PRINCETON,  N.  J. 

~77T 

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This  edition,  consisting  of  ioo  copies  on 
Large  Paper,  was  printed  in  the  month 
of  August,  1893. 

This  copy  is  YLo.JJi.1Jl. 


A  HILLSIDE  PARISH 


BY 

S.  BAYARD   DOD 

AUTHOR   OF   "A   HIGHLAND   CHRONICLE,"   ETC.,   ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD   &  COMPANY 

1893 


Copyright,  1893 
BY   DODD,    MEAD   &   COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


A  HILLSIDE  PARISH. 


CHAPTER   I. 


THERE  was  an  unwonted  stir  in  Clintonville, 
and  its  one  long  street  was  thronged  with  a 
muster  the  like  of  which  had  never  been  known  in 
the  history  of  this  small,  but  reputable  village. 

All  sorts  and  conditions  of  horses  and  wagons, 
loaded  to  their  utmost  capacity  with  men,  women 
and  children,  came  streaming  in  from  the  North, 
East  and  West  "  settlements,"  as  the  straggling  farm- 
houses strung  along  the  roads  running  through  the 
valleys  toward  these  quarters  of  the  compass,  were 
called;  to  the  South  lay  "The  Barrens." 

It  was  the  county  town,  and  was  perched  upon 
one  of  the  ridges  that  divide  the  head-waters  of  two 
rivers  which  meander  among  these  highlands  until 
they  find  their  way  to  the  sea,  bearing  on  the  bosom 
of  their  Spring  freshets  great  rafts  of  lumber,  or 
those  unique  structures  called  "Arks,"  laden  with 
potatoes,  pumpkins,  cabbages,  and  all  other  kinds 
of  country  produce;  which,  but  for  the  lack  of  an 
assortment  of  animals,  are  no  mean  effigy  of  their 
great  prototype. 

Nestled  on  a  plateau  of  one  of  these  hills,  with 


2  A    HILLSIDE   PARISH. 

the  higher  spurs  surrounding  it,  thirty  miles  off  from 
the  railroad,  on  the  line  of  the  old  post-road  from 
the  Hudson  to  the  great  lakes,  Clintonville  was  a 
place  of  great  promise  before  those  upsetting  rail- 
roads left  it  far  on  one  side,  and  raised  some  of  its 
meaner  rivals  to  an  undeserved  prominence. 

It  still  retained  a  certain  dignified  superiority  above 
these  upstarts,  in  that  it  continued  to  be  the  county 
seat,  and  dreamed  of  a  day  when  the  railroad  must 
come  to  it;  just  why,  no  one  could  say,  except  that 
the  oldest  and  wisest  men  said,  "  it  was  bound  to 
come." 

In  the  mean  time,  and  until  the  railroads  saw  it  in 
the  same  light,  the  village  was,  perforce,  content  to 
sustain  the  dignity  and  prestige  of  the  old  Concord 
coach,  with  its  six  horses  and  genuine  old-time  driver, 
which  plied  regularly,  once  a  day,  to  and  from  the 
railroad  station,  thirty  miles  away. 

Across  "The  Barrens,"  down  to  the  little  village 
of  Middleburgh,  where  a  halt  was  made  for  dinner; 
then  on,  over  the  Shawnee  mountain,  a  four-mile 
steady  pull  up-hill,  then  down  to  the  railroad  station 
at  Weston ;  it  was  a  good  twelve  hours'  tour  to  go 
and  come,  with  fresh  relays  of  horses  at  either  end 
of  the  route. 

Clintonville  was  a  straggling  settlement,  nearly 
two  miles  long,  of  white  houses  with  bright  green 
blinds,  dotted  along  the  main  street  (which  was  the 
old  post-road). 

Here  and  there  a  side  street  had  sprouted  from  the 
main  stem,  as  though  to  assert  its  growing  power; 
but  it  never  grew;  it  had  all  that  it  could  do  to  live. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  3 

At  the  upper  end  was  the  judge's  house,  on  an 
eminence,  as  befitted  a  judge.  In  the  centre  was 
the  village  green,  sloping  up  from  the  street  to  quite 
a  hill  at  the  rear,  and  on  this  knoll  was  the  court 
house,  on  one  side,  and  the  Presbyterian  church  on 
the  other,  furnishing  the  community  with  a  perennial 
joke  on  the  law  and  the  gospel. 

The  band-stand,  in  the  centre  of  the  village  green, 
was  the  scene  of  many  a  triumph  by  the  village  band, 
when  the  rustic  swains  sat  beside  their  girls  on  the 
fence,  and  whittled  or  smoked  while  the  band  went 
through  the  programme  which,  during  their  season 
of  hibernating,  they  had  succeeded  in  mastering. 

On  the  edge  of  the  green  was  a  famous  well,  and 
alongside  the  well  was  the  village  inn,  with  plenty 
of  hitching  room  for  the  farmers'  teams,  where  mine 
host,  Sol  Joyce,  entertained  man  and  beast  with  gos- 
sip and  fodder,  and  kept  even  with  the  whole  coun- 
try on  a  horse  trade,  knuckling  under  to  no  one  save 
his  black-eyed,  bustling  wife,  who  was  the  only  per- 
son who  could  thoroughly  upset  Sol. 

It  was  around  this  village  green  that  the  excite- 
ment centred,  and  the  horses  were  hitched,  side  by 
side,  all  down  the  border  of  the  green  and  alongside 
the  hotel,  for  it  was  a  day  to  be  remembered  in  the 
annals  of  this  hillside  parish. 

For  nearly  fifty  years,  old  Dominie  Edwards  had 
ministered  to  them,  and  it  was  scarce  within  the 
memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant  that  they  had  been 
called  to  the  serious  business  of  choosing  a  minister, 
and  they  did  not  know  how  to  go  about  it.  This 
generation  had  grown  up,  with  the  good  old   man 


4  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

moving  in  and  out,  like  a  patriarch,  among  their 
families,  and  they  had  almost  grown  into  the  belief 
that  ministers  come  among  men  as  parents  do,  by 
a  process  of  nature  regarding  which  we  have  no  se- 
lection; or  that,  like  the  prophets  of  old,  they  were 
sent  of  God. 

But  they  were  soon  educated  out  of  these  old- 
fashioned  notions  into  a  fine  critical  judgment  of  the 
points  of  the  various  candidates,  who  came,  as  if  the 
burial  of  the  poor,  old  dominie  had  sprouted  this 
crop  of  candidates,  thick  as  the  berries  on  the  native 
black-cap  bushes;  and,  after  they  had  become  con- 
noisseurs of  preaching  and  preachers,  they  were  in 
that  state  of  snarling  uncertainty  which  would  ensure 
the  new  minister,  whoever  he  might  be,  a  divided 
parish.  Old  quarrels  had  been  revived,  and  personal 
differences  and  jealousies  emphasized;  and  it  was 
enough  for  some  stout  churchman,  who  had  an  old 
lawsuit  pending  against  another  member,  to  know 
that  the  "  said  defendant "  was  in  favor  of  one  can- 
didate, to  fix  his  choice  promptly  and  finally  upon 
another. 

There  had  been  put  in  nomination  four  candidates 
for  this  pulpit,  where  six  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and 
a  donation  visit,  was  to  remunerate  the  man  whose 
sole  thought  and  care  was  to  be  the  burden  of  the 
spiritual  welfare  of  this  people;  who,  night  and  day, 
was  to  bear  them  on  his  heart;  through  summer's 
heat  and  winter's  cold,  was  to  trudge  over  those 
bleak  hill-sides,  unless,  perhaps,  he  "got  a  lift," 
when  his  tired  feet  would  carry  him  no  farther. 

Their  intellectual  life,  too,  was  to  be  his  care,  for 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  5 

there  was  no  one  else  to  organize  and  provide  the 
means  for  a  village  library,  lectures,  readings,  con- 
certs, or  whatever  might  tend  to  turn  away  their 
thoughts  from  beeves  and  wool,  or  cheese  and  butter. 

The  debate  had  run  high,  and  each  one  had  con- 
tributed his  quota  to  the  sum  of  perfections  that 
would  be  required  of  the  Apollos  who  was  to  have 
the  privilege  of  leading  this  flock  in  pastures  green. 

Old  Deacon  Shrake,  who  kept  the  village  store 
and  had  amassed  a  fortune,  (estimated  by  his  gifts 
at  spending  it,  an  ample  fortune,)  rose  at  this  point 
to  deprecate  the  turn  that  things  were  taking,  for  he 
saw  that  the  tide  was  drifting  toward  no  choice;  and 
this  had  been  the  fatal  conclusion  of  three  previous 
attempts  to  choose  a  pastor. 

"  Brethren, "  he  said,  and  every  one  turned  to  listen, 
for  the  Deacon's  acquirements  had  won  him  a  posi- 
tion of  influence;  albeit  the  farmers'  hard-earned 
dollars  had  gone  into  his  till — they  respected  the 
man  that  could  coax  their  money  from  the  stockings; 
— "Brethren,  I  think  I  can  perceive  whereunto  these 
things  leadeth; "  the  deacon  dropped  into  what  he 
regarded  as  scriptural  phraseology,  and  with  this  for 
a  text,  proceeded.  "We  must  jedge  o'  this  matter 
in  a  plain,  common  sense  way.  To  my  thinkin'  a 
minister  is  no  more'n  human,  and  bein'  sech,  he  is 
to  be  treated  in  a  humane  manner;  and  hence  the 
value  of  him  is  to  be  jedged  on  the  same  principles 
as  you  value  any  critter,  or  as  I  value  the  goods 
that  I  sell  over  thfl  counter."  Some  thought  this 
very  dear. — "  The  price  of  the  article  has  got  to  reggi- 
late  the  quality  of  the  article, — you  can't  buy  more'n 


6  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

a  yard  o'  silk  for  the  same  money  that'll  git  a  hull 
dress  pattern  o'  calico.  We  want  a  six-hundred- 
dollar  minister,  and  we  hain't  no  right  to  expect  a 
thousander  for  that  price.  Let  us  jest  settle  down 
to  that,  and,  as  the  apostle  says  'learn  therewith  to 
be  content. '  " 

This  at  once  turned  the  tide,  and  the  senior  deacon, 
Shelton,  who  knew  the  turn  of  the  tide,  like  an  old 
fisherman,  took  prompt  advantage  of  it,  and  so  won 
all  the  prestige  of  a  personal  victory. 

Martin  Luther  Shelton  had  a  confident  way  of 
stating  his  opinion,  with  a  meaning  smile,  that  seemed 
to  pour  derision  on  any  one  who  dared  to  dissent. 
This  confidence  was  begotten  in  him  partly  from  the 
name  he  bore,  which  gave  him  a  proscriptive  right 
to  lead  on  all  matters  theological,  partly  from  the 
fact  that  he  was  the  only  son  of  the  Rev.  Amminadab 
Shelton.  The  old  minister,  known  far  and  wide  as 
Father  Shelton,  was  paralyzed  now,  and  so  this  name- 
sake of  the  great  reformer  could  state  his  father's 
opinion  just  as  he  liked  to  have  it,  without  fear  of 
contradiction, — and  he  embraced  the  opportunity. 

He  chewed  tobacco,  and  spat  with  the  same  aban- 
don with  which  he  let  fly  his  opinions,  reckless  whom 
they  hit.  He  had  a  homely  gift  of  telling  a  story, 
always  fastening  these  stories  on  his  father,  with  an 
unctuous  tone  that  harmonized  with  his  bland  smile. 

He  lifted  his  tall  form,  in  the  midst  of  the  discus- 
sion, and  smiled  on  deacon  Abijah  Stretch,  the  signal 
that  he  would  fall  foul  of  him,  and  shot  the  following 
story  at  his  brother  deacon: 

"  About  twenty-five  years  ago,  my  father,  the  Rev. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  7 

Amminadab  Shelton,  heard  tell  of  a  horse  dealer, 
who  was  known  through  four  counties  as  a  square 
man  on  a  horse  trade."  Deacon  Stretch  squirmed, 
and  some  unkind  people  smiled,  for  the  deacon  was 
never  worsted  in  a  horse  trade.  "Well,"  continued 
Deacon  Shelton,  having  waited  for  this  silent  ap- 
plause, as  public  orators  do,  "  my  father  thought  it 
was  worth  a  fifty  mile  ride  to  see  such  a  man,  and 
much  more  to  have  a  trade  with  him.  And  so  he 
rode  over  to  Delaware  County  and  put  up  for  the 
night,  and  next  morning  went  out  to  see  Sol  Babing- 
ton.  'I  have  heard  tell  of  you,  Mr.  Babington,  as 
an  honest  horse  dealer,  and  have  driven  fifty  miles 
to  have  a  trade  with  you.'  'Very  g-g-good,  sir,' 
says  Sol;  for  he  stuttered  like  a  bull-frog.  'I'll  tell 
you,'  says  my  father,  'what  kind  of  a  nag  I  want, 
and  you  can  name  the  price;  I  leave  that  to  you.' 
'Very  g-g-good,  sir,'  says  Sol.  'He  must  be  sound 
and  kind.'  'Very  g-g-good,  sir.'  'And  he  must 
have  a  smart  gait  on  the  road,  and  be  kind  and  gen- 
tle for  a  lady  to  drive.'  'Very  g-g-g-good,  sir.' 
'And  he  must  go  easy  under  the  saddle,  fit  for  a  lady 
to  ride,  and  steady  at  the  plough  or  haying,  a  good 
feeder  and  an  easy  keeper,  spirited  but  kind. '  'Any- 
thing m-m-more?'  says  Sol.  'No,'  says  my  father, 
'that'll  do.'  'Well,  d-d-durn  ye,  there  ain't  no  sech 
a  horse,'  says  Sol.  And,  brethren,  that's  what  I  say 
about  this  minister  you've  been  describing  as  the 
man  to  receive  your  votes  for  this  pulpit,  there  ain't 
no  sech  a  minister." 

Deacon  Stretch  started  as  his  brother  deacon  gave 
mouth  to  the  "  little  sweer,"  but  he  did  not  rise  to  re- 


8  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

ply, — deacon  Shelton  had  swept  the  field,  and  stood, 
a  smiling  victor,  surveying  his  fallen  foes;  and,  after 
a  moment's  vigorous  chewing,  he  gave  those  foes  a 
Laodicean  rejection,  and,  with  an  insinuating  tone, 
as  though  it  were  the  height  of  folly  to  think  of  any- 
thing else,  said,  "  I  move  we  proceed  to  ballot  for 
a  pastor."  "I  second  that  motion,"  said  deacon 
Shrake;  and  no  one  else  gave  a  peep  or  mutter. 

With  many  scattering  votes,  the  main  following 
was  divided  between  two  candidates,  one  a  man 
whose  hair  was  already  sprinkled  with  gray,  who  was 
master  of  a  style  as  florid  as  his  face, — in  his  favor 
was  urged  his  fluent,  easy  style  of  address  and  his 
experience  as  a  pastor,  culled  from  eight  churches  to 
which  he  had  ministered;  while  his  opponents  urged 
that  he  was  out  of  a  charge,  and  that  the  very  abun- 
dance of  his  previous  ministrations  was  an  item  not 
in  his  favor;  and,  as  a  commentary  on  this  constant 
flitting,  they  said  his  wife  did  not  share  his  migra- 
tions. 

The  other  prominent  candidate  was  a  young,  un- 
married minister,  fresh  from  the  theological  seminary, 
and  therefore  with  no  experience,  and  hardly  fitted 
to  cope  with  the  complex  problems  arising  out  of  the 
divided  condition  of  the  congregation. 

Perchance  the  older  heads  of  the  parish  would  have 
had  their  way,  had  not  their  candidate  allowed  his 
zeal  to  outrun  his  discretion,  by  sending  to  the  senior 
deacon,  along  with  his  photograph,  a  letter  in  which 
he  not  only  set  forth  his  own  claims,  but  enforced 
them  with  a  solemn  admonition,  illustrated  by  ex- 
ample, setting  forth  the  danger  of  those  who  might 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  9 

oppose  him.  The  letter  closed  with  the  circumstan- 
tial recital  of  the  speedy  death  of  two  men  in  other 
parishes  who  had  been  reckless  enough  to  vote 
against   him;    closing  with  this   prophetic  warning, 

"Touch  not  mine  anointed  and  do  my  prophets  no 
harm.  Yours  in  the  Lord, 

ICHABOD    CULLEN." 

This  did  the  business  for  Ichabod,  and  provoked 
so  many  to  tempt  Providence  by  voting  against  him, 
that  young  Henry  Dinsmore  was  elected  by  a  hand- 
some majority. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AND  who  was  Henry  Dinsmore ?  He  was  a  young 
fellow  of  about  twenty-seven  summers,  or  win- 
ters, by  whichever  mode  of  reckoning  you  choose, 
who  had  gone  through  college  without  any  great 
distinction  or  discredit  to  himself;  though  he  came 
near  making  an  early  wreck  of  his  richly  freighted 
galleon  by  indulging  his  irresistible  propensity  to 
mischief,  which  garnished  his  college  life  with  num- 
berless incidents  amusing  to  recount,  but  not  so  hu- 
morous to  his  preceptors  in  their  execution. 

From  college  he  had  gone  to  the  study  of  the  law, 
which  offered  him  a  fair  field  for  the  exercise  of  his 
talents  and  energies;  but,  when  just  entering  on  a 
career  of  great  promise,  he  had  thrown  it  aside  for 
the  study  of  the  ministry. 

His  friends  remonstrated  earnestly,  and  especially 
was  Judge  Channing,  in  whose  office  he  had  entered, 
loath  to  part  with  the  brilliant,  energetic  young  fel- 
low in  whose  career  he  saw  great  promise  for  his 
pupil,  and  no  less  comfort  for  himself. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  the  old  Judge,  "  I  am  pained 
and  surprised  to  hear  of  this  notion  of  your  giving 
up  the  law,  in  which  you  have  a  future  of  great 
promise,  for  the  preacher's  vocation.  There  will 
always  be  plenty  of  good  preachers;  but  sound  law- 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  n 

yers  are  rare.  What  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
has  put  this  notion  in  your  head  ? " 

"  I  feel  that  I  am  called  of  God  to  this  work,"  an- 
swered the  young  man. 

"  Tush!  nonsense,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  judge, 
testily.  "  I  am  always  afraid  that  a  man  is  going  to 
make  a  fool  of  himself  when  he  talks  in  that  way. 
The  time  for  that  sort  of  thing  is  gone  by ;  there  is 
as  much  need  of  good  men  in  our  profession  as  any- 
where else  in  the  world,  and  a  sensible  man  judges 
of  what  he  is  called  of  God  to  do  by  what  he  can  do 
best.  You  have  a  special  gift  at  making  your  way 
with  men  in  the  world,  and  talents  which  will  make 
you  a  successful  and  useful  man  in  our  noble  profes- 
sion; all  these  will  be  thrown  away  preaching  cut- 
and-dried  theology  to  a  country  parish,  and  cate- 
chising the  children." 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  preach  cut-and-dried  theol- 
ogy," answered  Henry. 

"Well,  then,  they  will  pitch  you  out  of  the  pulpit," 
interrupted  the  Judge.  "  It  is  all  of  it  cut-and-dried, 
some  broad-cut,  some  fine-cut;  but  all  of  it  is  the 
same  kind  of  stuff,  when  you  get  to  the  bottom  of  it." 

"  I  am  sure,  Judge,  that,  feeling  as  I  do  about  the 
work,  it  will  interest  me — I  want  to  put  all  there  is 
in  me  into  my  preaching.  I  shall  be  no  good  in  any 
other  profession ;  and  I'm  going  to  enter  the  seminary 
this  Fall." 

"  At  what  seminary  do  you  propose  to  enter  on 
this  modern  crusade?"  asked  the  Judge,  sneeringly. 

"At  Princeton,"  answered  Henry. 

"Murder!"  groaned  the  Judge,  "they  will  dry  the 


12  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

very  meat  off  your  bones;  and  you  can't  call  your 
soul  your  own  when  they're  done  with  you."  And 
the  old  lawyer  felt  both  pity  and  vexation  at  this 
young  fellow  who  was  going  to  sacrifice  a  tangible 
future  for  some  crazy  whim-wham  that  had  laid  hold 
of  him,  as  some  diseases  do,  without  premonition, 
and,  apparently,  with  incurable  virulence.  But  he 
had  done  his  duty  by  the  young  man,  and  he  must 
go  his  own  gait  now; — and  so  he  did,  and  had  spent 
his  full  three  years  at  Princeton,  and  was  now  come 
forth  a  licentiate  of  the  church,  and  a  candidate  for 
holy  orders.  Whatever  the  drying  process  had  been, 
it  had  not  quenched  the  ardor  of  that  enthusiasm 
with  which  he  had  started  on  his  career,  nor  weak- 
ened his  conviction  that  his  choice  had  been  in  obedi- 
ence to  a  call  of  God,  and  he  entered  on  his  ministry 
with  the  buoyant  faith  of  youth,  strong  to  remove 
mountains. 

He  was  a  handsome  fellow,  tall  and  lithe,  with  a 
long,  firm,  springy  step;  his  hair  was  dark  and  wavy; 
his  eyes,  deep-set  and  penetrating;  there  were  firm 
lines  about  his  mouth,  indicative  of  power  to  make  up 
his  mind  and  hold  it,  with  the  full  courage  of  his  con- 
victions, and  a  way  of  stating  them,  sometimes  with 
solemn  earnestness,  sometimes  in  a  quaint,  whimsical 
way,  but  always  so  that  none  mistook  his  meaning. 

His  face  was  pale,  not  with  the  pallor  of  sickness, 
but  with  the  scholarly  reflection  from  books,  away 
from  the  sunlight  and  far  into  the  night,  under  the 
rays  of  the  lamplight,  which  neither  tans  nor  freckles. 

This  paleness  of  his  skin  was  enhanced  by  his  dark 
hair  and  the  black  mustache  which  graced  his  upper 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  13 

lip,  rather  to  the  dismay  of  some  of  the  elders  and 
elder  spinsters,  but  to  the  delight  of  many  a  maiden; 
and  some  hearts  throbbed  to  the  eloquence  distilled 
from  under  that  "  lovely  mustache "  which  would 
have  been  callous  to  the  persuasions  of  a  bare  upper 
lip. 

The  call  had  been  placed  in  his  hands,  duly  signed 
and  attested  by  deacons,  trustees  and  moderator; 
with  the  usual  pertinent  clause  "  and  that  you  may 
be  free  from  worldly  cares  and  avocations,  we  prom- 
ise and  oblige  ourselves  to  pay  to  you  the  sum  of  six 
hundred  dollars,  in  equal  semi-annual  instalments, 
during  the  time  of  your  being  and  continuing  the 
regular  pastor  of  this  church ;  "  no  mention  was  made 
of  the  donation  visit,  but  this  was  set  forth  in  attrac- 
tive colors  in  the  letter  accompanying  the  call. 

Henry  Dinsmore  smiled  as  he  read  this.  Did  he 
remember  the  glowing  picture  which  the  old  Judge 
drew  of  what  "  might  have  been  "  if  he  kept  on  with 
the  law,  and  foretold  just  this  kind  of  a  rustic  field 
as  the  reward  of  his  ministerial  aspirations?  He 
smiled,  but  he  did  not  voice  his  thoughts  even  to 
himself. 

He  wrote  a  letter  of  acceptance,  and  left  the  elders 
to  select  as  early  a  day  for  his  ordination  and  in- 
stallation as  they  pleased,  and  acceded  to  their  re- 
quest to  preach  for  them  on  the  following  Sabbath. 

It  was  a  beautiful  June  day  as  he  drove  up  from 
the  railway  station,  mounting  higher  every  mile, 
until,  from  the  top  of  Shawnee  mountain,  the  eye 
took  in  at  a  glance  the  valley  of  the  Muskingum 
lying  far  below,   with  the  farms  strung  along  the 


14  A    HILLSIDE  PA  A  IS II. 

banks  of  the  silver  thread  of  a  stream  that  meandered 
through  the  fiat  lands. 

Old  Tom  Burton  handled  the  ribbons,  and  chatted 
with  the  young  parson,  (who  had  the  seat  of  honor 
beside  the  driver,)  telling  him  the  names  of  the 
farmers  and  scraps  of  the  history  of  each  family,  as 
they  drove  along;  but,  first  and  last,  recurring  to 
his  own  experiences  during  the  twenty-five  years  that 
he  had  driven  on  the  road.  They  had  just  passed 
the  crest  of  the  Shawnee  mountain,  where  old  rattle- 
snake Bill  had  his  hut,  near  the  ledges  which  were 
his  stamping  ground,  where  he  hunted  rattlers  and 
tried  out  their  grease,  "  which  be  a  mighty  savin' 
cure  for  rheumatiz'.  It  ain't  to  be  beat  by  no  doc- 
tor's stuff,  fur  old  Bill  he  says  it's  by  the  power  o' 
this  that  the  rattlers  keep  their  jints  movin',  and  it 
stands  to  reason  if  it  kin  keep  sech  a  row  o'  jints  as 
theirs  a  wrigglin',  it  must  answer  for  the  single  jint 
of  a  man.  And,  as  Bill  says,  'whoever  heerd  o'  a 
rattler  hevin'  the  rheumatiz' ;  and  the  Injuns  used 
it  to  keep  'em  supple."  Beguiling  the  way  with  such 
discourse,  old  Tom  turned  the  crest  of  the  mountain 
and  started  down  the  slope  to  the  Muskingum  valley, 
a  four  mile  stretch,  with  a  steep  grade  all  the  way; 
off  started  the  horses,  and,  when  Tom  put  his  foot 
on  the  brake,  it  came  forward  easily,  and  then  fell 
flopping  against  the  side  of  the  stage.  In  a  moment 
the  sleepy,  old  driver  gathered  up  his  reins,  and, 
with  fire  in  his  eyes,  as  he  sat  calm  and  erect  on  the 
box,  seized  the  whip  in  his  hand,  and  said  quietly  to 
the  young  minister,  "Hold  on  tight,  Dominie;  and 
the  Lord  have  mercy  on  our  bones." 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  15 

The  long,  steep  grade  was  so  straight  that  the  eye 
could  take  it  all  in  at  a  glance,  until,  far  away,  down 
at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  where  the  road  took  a  sharp 
turn  at  right  angles,  a  "  worm "  fence  seemed  to 
stretch  right  across  the  way,  with  a  broad,  green 
meadow  beyond.  Along  the  side  of  the  road  ran  a 
single  guard-rail  of  saplings  nailed  on  the  top  of  posts, 
about  three  feet  high.  This  served  well  enough  to 
keep  a  man  from  driving  over  the  steep  embankment, 
of  a  dark  night;  but  was  no  more  than  a  bulrush 
against  the  momentum  of  the  heavy  coach. 

Dinsmore  kept  his  seat  by  clinging  to  the  iron 
guard-rail  of  the  seat  as  the  stage  lurched  from  side 
to  side  when  they  struck  even  a  small  stone.  His 
face  was  very  pale,  and  his  breath  came  quick  and 
hard. 

Tom  lashed  his  horses  into  a  gallop.  One  of  the 
wheelers  made  a  false  step.  Dinsmore  leaned  for- 
ward, to  see  him  fall;  but  Tom  had  him  in  hand  and 
held  him  on  his  feet. 

A  chipmunk  ran  across  the  road.  Again  Dins- 
more leaned  forward  intent  upon  seeing  whether  the 
agile,  little  fellow  could  escape  two  dozen  trampling 
feet;  and  as  they  whirled  past,  turned  to  watch  him 
scamper  along  the  guard-rail  as  if  to  join  in  the 
wild  race. 

Then  came  one  of  those  hummocks  in  the  road, 
which  the  country  girls  call  "Hug  me  tights,"  or 
"Thank  you  ma'ams,"  as  their  mood  may  be;  it  was 
no  joke  to  face  it  now.  Over  it  they  went  with  a 
rebound  that  brought  screams  of  terror  and  shouts 
of  angry  remonstrance  from  within  the  stage. 


1 6  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Not  a  word  passed  between  the  two  men  who  sat, 
on  top  of  the  swaying,  lurching  old  coach,  face  to 
face  with  sudden  death. 

The  panting  horses  slackened  their  pace ;  the  heavy 
coach  crowded  on  the  wheelers. 

If  one  of  them  fell !  Dinsmore  drew  a  hard  breath 
as  the  picture  rose  before  him;  but  Tom  plied  the 
lash,  now  on  the  wheelers,  now  on  the  leaders. 

They  were  nearing  the  foot  of  the  hill.  At  that 
turn  no  skill  of  driver  nor  strength  of  horse  could 
save  them.  At  such  a  speed  and  with  such  a  load 
the  old  coach  could  not  be  made  to  turn  that  corner; 
but  it  was  a  mercy  that  they  were  not  to  be  slung 
over  into  the  deep,  rocky  ravine. 

Dinsmore  turned  and  looked  into  Tom  Burton's 
face,  when  they  were  within  about  fifteen  feet  of 
the  turn.  Tom  was  looking  straight  at  the  leaders; 
his  lips  were  firmly  set  with  a  grim  smile;  his  eye 
was  bright;  his  hand  was  steady. 

The  leaders  started  to  take  the  turn  of  the  road. 
Tom  was  ready,  and  with  rein  and  whip  held  them 
straight  for  the  worm  fence;  for  a  moment  they  hesi- 
tated but  Tom  drove  them,  through  the  wreck  of  it, 
out  into  the  soft,  broad  meadow  beyond,  with  only  a 
few  scratches  on  his  six  horses,  and  a  few  bruises  on 
his  angry  passengers.  It  was  all  over  in  less  than 
ten  minutes,  that  long,  wild  ride. 

Tom  said  nothing  in  answer  to  the  abuse  which 
was  heaped  upon  him;  but  quietly  dismounting  from 
his  seat,  after  putting  his  whip  in  the  socket  and 
slowly  wrapping  the  reins  around  it,  examined  his 
horses  over  with  great  care;    and,  when  the  passen- 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  1 7 

gers  dismounted  and  gathered  closer  round  him,  to 
get  the  better  crack  at  him,  he  drawled  in  reply,  as 
though  it  were  a  collect  from  the  liturgy, 

"  You  can  jest  thank  your  stars  that  we  had  the 
Presbyterian  Dominie  aboard,  and  that  he  was  just 
called  to  the  church,  or  else  your  jaws  would  ha' 
been  shet,  world  without  end,  amen." 

Henry  Dinsmore  was  a  shade  paler  and  very  silent 
as  they  drove  up,  after  dinner,  over  the  barrens  and 
down  through  the  dark  hemlock  woods  that  lined  the 
road,  as  it  drooped  through  another  valley,  just 
before  entering  the  village.  The  vision  of  sudden 
death  suggested  the  thought  that  his  life  had  been 
spared  to  let  him  enter  on  this  field  of  labor;  and 
now  he  felt  not  only  that  he  was  called  of  God,  but 
that  he  had  been  saved  by  the  hand  of  God.  Was 
this  for  some  great  work  ?  His  ministry  assumed  a 
grandeur  and  solemnity,  to  his  youthful  imagination, 
akin  to  the  work  of  the  prophets  of  old;  what  won- 
der if  this  seemed  to  him  the  very  refutation  of  the 
worldly  wisdom  and  estimate  which  the  Judge  had 
put  upon  his  life  in  a  rustic  parish,  and  his  enthusi- 
asm was  kindled  anew. 

There  rose  within  him  high  hopes  and  rare  promises 
of  what  he  might  do  among  this  people.  The  sordid 
side  of  what  his  compensation  was  to  be,  sank  into 
nothingness  before  this  aspect  of  his  work  and  its 
rewards; — he  would  awaken  these  people,  rouse  their 
intellects,  win  their  affections,  engage  them  heart 
and  soul  with  him.  They  should  shake  off  the  leth- 
argy of  their  narrow  life,  and  live  a  new  life,  in  a 
larger  sphere;  touch  the  great  living,  thinking  world 


1 8  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

and  be  touched  by  it;  feel  the  pulse  of  the  great  in- 
tellect of  humanity,  the  welt-getst;  and  rise  to  touch 
eternal  things,  looking  from  the  grandeur  of  the 
things  seen  and  temporal  to  the  glory  of  the  things 
unseen  and  eternal. 

He  would  rouse  them  to  know  the  beautiful  truths 
of  science, — of  art, — of  literature  and  of  religion; 
their  feet  should  tread  with  him  on  the  high  places  of 
earth,  and  look  off  to  the  battlements  of  the  eternal 
city. 

So  he  drove  up  over  those  wide  barrens,  through 
the  dark,  primeval  forests,  like  a  knight  errant  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  to  tread  the  enchanted  ground 
where  sordid  and  petty  cares  had  thrown  the  spell 
of  an  enthralling  sleep;  he  was  bearing  an  Ithuriel's 
spear,  at  touch  of  which  these  sleepers  should 
waken. 

Who  were  these  dwellers  on  this  enchanted  ground, 
and  what  sort  of  material  do  they  offer  for  the  reali- 
zation of  the  hopes  and  aims  of  the  ardent,  young 
minister? 

With  the  exception  of  the  three  or  four  store- 
keepers of  the  small,  miscellaneous  stores  of  the  vil- 
lage, the  Judge  and  two  other  lawyers,  the  doctor, 
two  blacksmiths,  a  wheelwright,  and  that  man  of  all 
trades,  the  village  cabinet  maker  and  undertaker, 
named  Tim  Mitchell, — all  the  rest  were  farmers, 
farmer's  wives,  sons,  daughters  and  widows;  and, 
as  the  rocky  soil  was  not  kindly  to  crops,  and  the 
late  spring  and  early  winter  made  but  a  short  season, 
they  were  almost  all  dairy  farmers. 

Almost  every  house  was  furnished  with   a  dairy 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  19 

cellar,  and  the  front  yard  was  garnished  with  bright, 
tin  pans,  sunning  themselves  sweet. 

The  churns  were  often  driven  by  water-power,  and 
the  water-wheels  of  those  houses  that  were  in  a  val- 
ley with  a  stream  running  through  it,  made  them 
look  like  a  succession  of  small  grist  mills.  Where 
water-power  was  wanting,  a  stray  bear  was  found 
following  the  uncongenial  trade  of  making  butter; 
or  a  great,  fat  sheep  was  on  the  treadmill  (for  mutton 
throve  at  this  kind  of  work) ;  or  else  a  shaggy  New- 
foundland dog  was  on  duty, — when  he  could  be 
found;  for  the  trouble  with  these  churners  was  that 
they  were  too  keen  of  wit,  and,  keeping  count  of 
churning  day,  they  were  off  to  the  woods,  from  dawn 
to  dewy  eve,  so  that  churning  day  must  be  made  a 
movable  feast  in  order  to  secure  these  quick-witted 
servants,  in  whom  conscience  had  but  a  rudimentary 
development. 

The  other  main  industry  of  this  section  was  tan- 
ning, the  evidences  of  which  were  the  great  piles  of 
tan-bark  which  one  saw  stacked  along  the  roadside, 
or  met  being  hauled  on  sledges  in  the  winter,  and 
also  the  unpleasant  load  of  fresh  hides,  which  would 
frighten  some  horses  into  madness,  and  horrify  the 
nostrils  of  the  driver,  for  a  mile  or  more.  The  tan- 
neries made  the  streams  run  red,  and  drove  the  trout 
from  the  lower  waters;  but  they  brought  business 
to  the  country  stores,  and  gave  the  farmers  steady 
winter  occupation  hauling  the  tan-bark. 

Beside  the  maple  sugar  making,  which  was  more 
a  pastime  for  a  winter's  holiday,  the  only  other  in- 
dustry was  scoop-making.     These  scoop-makers  were 


20  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

a  tribe  as  distinct  and  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
community  as  though  they  were  gypsies;  they  lived 
in  a  settlement  four  or  five  miles  north-west  of  the 
town,  near  Pleasant  Pond,  a  rude  little  hamlet  of 
one-story  shanties.  Their  larders  were  replenished 
at  the  expense  of  a  wide  range  of  hen-roosts  and 
sheep-pastures.  Here  they  fashioned,  with  rude 
tools,  by  hand,  from  the  hard  maple,  those  large 
wooden  scoops  with  which  sugar  and  grain  are  han- 
dled, and  the  wooden  bowls  in  which  the  butter  is 
worked.  They  came  to  town  with  a  great  load  of 
these  scoops  strung  over  their  shoulders,  or,  haply, 
if  they  were  well  to  do,  hung  panier-fashion  on  a 
donkey's  back.  The  stated  barter  of  their  wares 
was  for  opium,  and  all  the  country  stores  kept  a  tin 
case  of  the  soft,  dark,  fascinating  gum;  for  this 
dwarfed,  stupid  race  were  constant  consumers  of  the 
drug,  which  they  took  in  the  simplest  fashion,  by 
rolling  a  small  portion  into  a  ball,  about  the  size  of 
a  pea,  and  lodging  it  in  a  corner  of  the  mouth. 


CHAPTER   III. 

TO  this  community  came  the  young  minister, 
surcharged  with  his  high  purposes,  to  seek 
their  realization.  He  found  lodging  at  the  village 
inn,  and  was  given  a  warm  welcome  by  the  old  Epis- 
copal minister,  the  Rev.  William  Forrester,  the  length 
of  whose  ministry  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that 
he  always  carried  a  faded  green  cotton  umbrella  of 
solid  construction  and  broad  dimensions,  and  told 
the  young  minister  that  he  had  acquired  the  habit 
because  he  owed  his  life  to  just  such  an  umbrella. 
He  had,  in  the  early  days  of  his  ministry,  paid  a 
parochial  visit  to  an  outlying  farm-house,  and  was 
returning  home,  when  a  pack  of  six  wolves  started 
in  pursuit  of  him.  He  whipped  up  his  horse,  and 
had  a  fair  show  of  distancing  his  pursuers,  when,  to 
his  dismay,  he  came  upon  a  tree  fallen  directly 
across  the  road.  Out  he  jumped,  to  break  down  the 
branches  and  leap  his  horse  over  the  trunk  and  drag 
over  the  sleigh;  on  came  the  wolves;  in  lieu  of  any 
other  weapon,  he  picked  up  his  umbrella  and  pointed 
it  at  the  pack,  with  the  effect  of  halting  them,  then, 
with  a  step  forward  and  a  great  shout,  he  suddenly 
opened  the  umbrella,  at  which  the  pack  turned  tail 
and  fled  to  a  respectful  distance ;  and,  by  repeating 
this  at  intervals,  he  made  good  his  escape;  therefore 
he  always  carried  a  green  cotton  umbrella. 

21 


2  2  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Beside  the  old  rector,  there  was  young  Fred  Hut- 
ton,  the  dry-goods  clerk,  who  went  periodically  to 
the  city  and  came  home  with  astonishing  neck-ties, 
and  the  air  of  a  man  of  the  world,  and  a  debonair 
style  that  tvas  the  admiration  of  the  village  belles 
and  the  envy  and  detestation  of  the  rustic  swains. 

The  two  other  boarders  were  Mrs.  Hollis,  the 
widow  of  a  Presbyterian  minister,  and  her  daughter 
Amelia  (Mealy  Ann,  the  old  lady  called  her),  but  she 
herself,  having  surreptitiously  read  several  transla- 
tions of  some  wicked  French  novels,  always  spelled 
her  name  Amelie,  with  a  tremendously  acute  accent 
on  the  penult,  and  with  a  breadth  of  pronunciation  to 
the  first  letter  that  made  it  almost  a  groan. 

She  was  fading  into  the  forties,  but  was  still  young 
at  heart,  and  capable  of  keeping  Fred  in  practice; 
showing  how  entirely  relative  is  our  estimate  of  the 
flight  of  time. 

Old  Mrs.  Hollis  was  sick  with  consumption,  and 
was  always  nearing  her  end.  She  was  able  to  endure 
all  the  pains  of  sickness  better  than  exclusion  from 
the  news  of  what  was  doing  in  her  little  world,  and 
thankful  that  her  infirmities  did  not  incline  toward 
deafness.  The  watchers  in  the  next  room,  on  one 
of  those  nights  when  her  dissolution  had  been  an- 
nounced, as  they  sat  conversing  in  subdued  accents, 
were  startled,  as  by  a  voice  from  the  tomb,  when 
the  old  lady,  in  a  ghastly  but  penetrating  whisper, 
interrupted  them,  "  Speak  out  loud,  for  mercy's  sake. 
I  could  bear  to  hear  it  thunder  better  than  to  have 
you  whisper."  This  meant  much  from  her,  for,  of 
all  things,  she  feared  a  thunder  storm. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  23 

Her  first  greeting  to  Henry  Dinsmore  was,  "  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  a  minister  safely  settled  over  this 
church,  and  thank  the  Lord  that  you  are  not  married, 
and  have  come  to  live  in  the  hotel ;  for  now  I  can 
have  a  good  night's  rest." 

"Why  so,  Mrs.  Hollis?"  queried  the  young  par- 
son ;  at  a  loss  to  know  why  he  should  prove  a  nar- 
cotic to  this  old  lady. 

"Because  I  am  terrible  afraid  of  thunder,"  an- 
swered the  old  lady;  "and  I'm  sure  the  Lord  will 
not  let  the  house  be  struck  by  lightning  while  a 
minister  is  in  it." 

"But  you  have  Mr.  Forrester  here,"  he  answered, 
smiling  at  the  odd  conceit  that  to  his  ordinary  pas- 
toral duties  should  be  added  this  of  serving  as  a  non- 
conductor. 

"Oh!  yes,"  answered  the  old  lady,  with  a  grim 
smile,  "  but  I  never  reckoned  that  the  Episcopals  was 
any  protection  against  thunder  and  lightning." 

And  yet  it  seemed  to  Dinsmore  that  the  old  rector 
would  be  the  more  effective  lightning-arrester,  for  he 
was  a  corpulent,  slow-gaited,  old  gentleman,  always 
with  his  green  cotton  umbrella  tightly  clasped  under 
his  arm,  ready  to  stop  anywhere  and  at  any  time  to 
have  a  chat  with  anybody,  and  of  an  absorbent  na- 
ture. 

Forty  years  ago  he  had  come  here,  to  his  first,  and 
only,  charge,  and,  six  months  later,  he  had  brought 
his  young  wife,  who  stayed  two  weeks,  and  then  sud- 
denly left  and  never  came  back  again;  why,  no  one 
ever  knew;  she  was  living  still,  but  never  a  letter 
had  passed  between  them  during  these  forty  years; 


24  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

this  much  the  post-masters  and  mistresses  covering 
that  period  could  tell;  more  than  this  no  one  knew, 
save  that  her  name  never  passed  his  lips.  Of  course, 
there  was  a  great  stir  at  first,  and  a  disposition  to 
enquire  who  was  in  the  wrong,  but  Mr.  Forrester 
prudently  baffled  all  such  attempts,  and  quietly  lived 
down  the  little  flutter  of  scandal  that  followed  her 
leaving,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it. 

Now  he  was  old  and  failing,  his  speech  was  thick, 
his  false  teeth  were  all  the  while  dropping  down  in 
the  midst  of  a  sentence  and  clipping  it  in  an  untimely 
fashion;  but  one  soon  became  accustomed  to  this, 
so  that  it  seemed  only  one  of  his  personal  peculiari- 
ties, and  did  not  seriously  mar  his  conversation.  He 
was  genial  and  kindly  to  all,  wise  and  politic  in  his 
relations  to  his  neighbors  of  the  other  churches. 

His  weakness  was  strawberries,  of  which  he  always 
secured  the  first  basket  from  the  gardens  of  his  par- 
ishioners, and  bore  them  home  in  triumph,  along 
with  the  dose  which  he  had  gotten  at  the  apothecary's 
to  overcome  the  painful  fact  that  strawberries  would 
not  agree  with  him. 

There  were  alternate  services  at  the  Episcopal  and 
Presbyterian  churches  on  Sunday  evenings,  as  the 
village  did  not  furnish  a  church-going  element  large 
enough  to  make  two  evening  congregations;  and  the 
rector  was  diligent  in  his  attendance  at  Dinsmore's 
evening  service,  where  he  sat  in  a  rear  seat  and 
counted  the  attendance  carefully,  keeping  tally  as 
though  it  were  a  series  of  games,  and  reckoned  with 
glee  when  the  count  was  in  his  favor. 

To  him  the  young  parson  first   unburdened   his 


A    HILLSIDE   PARISH.  25 

heart  regarding  the  mission  with  which  he  felt  him- 
self charged. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Mr.  Forrester,  over  the 
intellectual  and  spiritual  needs  of  this  community," 
said  Henry  one  day,  as  the  old  rector  and  he  were 
chatting,  and  the  old  man  had  been  posting  him 
about  some  of  the  family  quarrels  which  offered  dan- 
gerous pitfalls  for  the  uninitiated. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  old  rector  uneasily,  "there 
are  some  of  them  who  don't  get  to  church  more  than 
once  a  year;  but  they  would  only  make  trouble  if 
they  did  come,  and  it  is  just  as  well  to  leave  them 
alone;  but  you  must  remember  not  to  say  anything 
about  the  widow  Hollis  when  you  visit  Martin  Shel- 
ton,  for  her  husband  and  old  Dominie  Shelton  had  a 
great  spat  because  Amelia  Ann  wouldn't  take  a  shine 
to  Martin.  You'll  have  your  hands  full  attending 
to  those  you  have  in  your  church,  without  bothering 
about  outsiders;  and  do  you  go  to  Mother  Living- 
ston's to  tea,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  her 
chicken-pie, — I  haven't  a  member  of  my  congrega- 
tion that  makes  such  chicken-pie  as  hers." 

And  so  he  rattled  on,  to  the  dismay  of  the  ardent 
young  enthusiast.  He  too  seemed  to  have  withered 
in  this  dry  mountain  air, — was  there  a  fatality  about 
the  place,  which  blighted  hope  and  enervated  a  man's 
vital  force,  and  must  he,  in  time,  succumb  to  its  in- 
fluence ?  Now  it  was  but  another  spur  to  his  enthu- 
siasm, this  lethargy  of  all  around  him;  another  mo- 
tive to  his  ambition;  he  would  stir  these  dry  bones 
and  cause  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  to  breathe  upon 
them,  so  that  they  should  live. 


26  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

There  was  another  element  of  his  parish,  an  out- 
lying band,  which  enlisted  his  keen  interest.  He  came 
in  contact  with  one  of  the  scoop-makers,  and  this  set 
him  to  inquiring  into  the  history  of  this  outcast  tribe. 

One  cold  November  twilight  he  was  walking  briskly 
through  the  crisp  air,  on  his  way  home  from  a  turn 
at  skating  on  Pleasant  Pond;  familiar  objects  were 
taking  the  outlandish  shapes  which  they  assume  at 
this  confusing  hour,  when  he  noticed  by  the  roadside 
a  strange  looking  object  that  refused  to  be  classified. 

The  air  was  keen  and  raw,  and  he  was  in  a  hungry 
hurry  to  be  home,  but  stopped  to  investigate. 

It  was  a  "  Scooper,"  who,  having  taken  a  drop  too 
much,  had  made  a  stone  his  pillow,  and  the  bag  in 
which  he  had  carried  the  scoops  his  blanket,  and  the 
open  sky  his  shelter. 

Henry  Dinsmore  concluded  that  he  was  likely  to 
see  the  end  of  his  earthly  career  if  he  spent  the  night 
in  such  quarters,  and  therefore  stayed  the  urgent 
appeals  of  hunger  to  set  the  "Scooper"  on  his  feet 
again.  This  having  been  accomplished,  in  the  face 
of  his  violent  protest,  and  the  scattered  contents 
being  restored  to  the  sack,  a  loaf  or  two  of  bread,  a 
piece  of  bacon,  a  few  small  packages  of  groceries, 
among  which  was  the  usual  chunk  of  opium,  then, 
with  sack  laid  over  his  shoulder,  the  young  pastor 
set  the  wanderer's  face  toward  home. 

"Who  be  ye,  anyway,  that  are  meddlin'  in  my 
affairs?"  said  the  irate  "Scooper." 

"  I  am  the  new  pastor  of  the  Presbyterian  church 
in  Clintonville,"  answered  Henry. 

"It's  a  pity  ye  don't  begin  by  mindin'  your  own 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  27 

business.  I  know  what  ye  think.  Ye  think  I'm 
drunk;  I  ain't  too  drunk  to  lick  you;  and  I'll  do  it, 
by  Jove,  the  next  time  you  lay  your  hands  on  me, 
you  good-for-nothing,  beggarly,  snivelling  parson." 

And  off  he  went,  muttering,  over  the  hill;  and  a 
grotesque  silhouette  he  made  against  the  faint,  cold 
light  that  lingered  in  the  evening  sky. 

Here  was  another  problem  for  his  solution,  to  reach 
this  besotted  band  of  outcasts  who  were  far  out  of 
hearing  of  the  church  bells,  and  beyond  the  pale  of 
any  influence  which  the  christian  community,  in  which 
they  lived,  could  exert  upon  them.  There  were  not 
a  few  who,  living  in  the  far  outskirts  of  the  settle- 
ments, knew  the  minister  only  as  he  came  among 
them  to  marry  them  or  bury  their  dead;  but  these 
Ishmaelites  were  even  farther  outside  the  pale  of 
christian  influence  than  this,  they  were  married  by 
some  uncouth  ceremonial  of  their  own,  or  by  the 
squire,  and  they  buried  their  dead  as  they  buried  a 
dog,  without  other  ceremony  than  the  funeral  feast, 
at  which  they  drowned  their  sorrow  in  drink,  or  with 
their  favorite  drug. 

Clearly,  there  was  but  one  way  to  reach  these 
outcasts,  and  that  was  to  go  in  among  them  and 
gain  some  personal  hold  upon  them;  and  his  first 
essay  in  this  direction  had  not  been  encouraging. 

He  was  not  daunted  by  this  array  of  natural  re- 
sistance in  the  material  upon  which  he  had  to  work, 
but  he  was  sorely  perplexed.  The  general  tone 
around  him  was  discouraging.  It  reflected  the  old 
rector's  policy  of  pursuing  the  beaten  path,  and 
"  minding  his  own  business"  as  the  "Scooper"  put 


28  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

it;  that  business  being  to  preach  in  all  weathers,  no 
matter  how  stormy,  attend  every  funeral  and  wedding 
at  which  he  was  called  to  officiate,  to  baptize  the 
babies,  and  eat  the  chicken  pies  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  hospitable  offerings  under  which  the  tables 
groaned  when  the  minister  was  asked  to  dinner, — this, 
with  the  accurate  memory  of  the  children's  names 
and  birthdays,  was  enough  to  keep  a  man  busy. 

And  these  sentiments  of  the  kindly,  old  rector, 
who  was  universally  popular,  were  re-echoed  by  the 
elders  of  his  own  church  session,  who  thought  the 
flock  of  God  was  the  true  field  of  labor  for  the  Shep- 
herd, and  it  was  enough  to  fill  his  heart  and  mind 
to  prepare  suitable,  spiritual  food  for  them ;  and  they 
were  wary  of  committing  themselves  to  the  endorse- 
ment of  any  other  plans  or  schemes  than  this  strictly 
ministerial  work. 

So  that,  before  long,  he  began  to  think  that  he  was 
"  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness;  "  but  this 
only  made  him  feel  more  strongly  the  prophetic  im- 
pulse rise  within  him, — resistance  called  forth  his  en- 
ergies to  overcome  it. 

The  Sunday  after  his  installation,  on  which  Henry 
Dinsmore  was  to  preach  his  first  sermon  as  pastor  of 
the  church,  was  a  fair  June  day.  The  window  of  his 
room  opened  on  the  balcony  that  overlooked  the 
village  green. 

The  merry  robins  and  the  noisy  blackbirds  that 
were  nesting  in  the  trees  on  the  green,  had  stirred 
his  restless  sleep  with  their  matins,  and  the  vagrant 
wind  sent  whiffs  of  the  honeysuckle  in  at  the  open 
window. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  29 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  sleep  again,  so  he  walked 
up  and  down  the  balcony  until  breakfast  time. 

From  the  corner  of  the  village  green  nearest  to  the 
Inn  a  straight  path  led  to  the  steps  of  the  gray  stone 
court-house,  with  the  grated  windows  of  its  cells 
looking  out  toward  the  church.  From  the  other 
corner,  as  straight  a  path  led  to  the  porch  of  the 
white  church  with  its  green  blinds.  They  crossed 
in  the  centre,  forming  a  great  X  in  the  green  sward. 

After  breakfast  he  came  up  again  and  paced  the 
balcony,  reviewing  the  past  and  forecasting  the  fu- 
ture. What  a  glorious  day  it  was;  how  full  of  bound- 
ing life  his  pulses  beat. 

An  hour  before  church  time  the  wagons  from  the 
country  began  to  come  in;  there  would  be  a  great 
congregation  to-day. 

He  watched  the  people  gather  in  groups  in  the 
church  porch  and  on  the  grass  in  front. 

Half  an  hour  before  the  time  of  service,  the  bell 
rang  out.  It  startled  him,  for  he  had  forgotten  the 
country  custom.  Then,  as  he  stood  there  listening 
to  it,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  excitement,  as  the  air  throbbed 
with  the  sweet  tones,  and  the  listless  wind  carried 
them  out  over  the  hills  and  down  the  roads  where 
the  wagons  were  bringing  his  people  to  church. 

The  tender  glory  of  the  summer  day,  the  gather- 
ing of  the  people,  the  sacred  mission  with  which  he 
felt  himself  charged,  the  far  floating  angelus  from 
the  belfry,  stirred  him,  excited  him,  elated  him. 

As  he  passed  out  from  the  Inn,  if  he  had  followed 
his  impulse,  instead  of  walking  up  the  two  sides  of 
the  triangle  which  the  path  traversed,  he  would  have 


30  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

vaulted  the  fence  and  made  across  the  sward  on  a 
run. 

But  his  feet  were  shackled  by  the  decorum  due  to 
the  many  eyes  that  were  fixed  on  him  from  the  mo- 
ment he  left  the  porch  of  the  Inn. 

He  could  see  a  movement  among  the  people  as 
soon  as  he  came  in  sight,  a  sort  of  huddling  together. 

The  two  sides  of  that  triangle  seemed  half  a  mile 
long,  as  he  measured  each  step  that  he  took  and 
wondered  whether  he  was  walking  with  becoming 
gravity. 

As  he  neared  the  church,  the  groups  of  people  fell 
back  and  those  in  the  porch  retreated  into  the  church 
and  took  their  seats.  Only  here  and  there  one  who 
had  met  him  ventured  to  bow.  Two  of  the  elders 
came  forward  and  shook  hands  with  him;  and  those 
who  were  near  enough  craned  their  necks  to  catch 
even  a  word  of  what  the  young  pastor  said,  and  re- 
peated it,  with  pride,  to  those  who  were  not  so  ven- 
turesome. 

Dinsmore  tried  to  look  pleasantly  on  them  all  and 
give  an  inclusive  bow  to  the  various  groups,  as  he 
passed  them ;  but  any  notice  from  him  served  only 
to  embarrass  them. 

As  he  sat  in  the  pulpit  watching  them  assemble  in 
church,  and  pew  after  pew  was  filled,  until  the  church 
was  crowded,  and  the  assembly  sat  still  and  expect- 
ant every  eye  fastened  on  him,  there  coursed  through 
his  brain  again  and  again  like  vivid  flashes,  the  hopes 
and  ambitions  that  had  led  him  to  this  position. 

He  was  at  the  threshold  of  his  ministry.  What 
lay  behind  the  veil  ? 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  31 

Under  the  impulse  of  such  thoughts  as  these,  he 
stood  up  before  them  without  notes  save  a  small  bit 
of  paper  which  he  twisted  nervously  in  his  hands 
until  anything  written  on  it  was  soon  past  reading, 
and  looking  the  congregation  over,  with  a  flash  in 
his  eye,  and  a  twitching  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
he  began  in  a  low,  conversational  tone  to  talk  to  them. 

"  This  is  a  very  sacred  moment  to  me  when  I  begin 
my  ministry  among  you.  I  have  come  to  you  not 
only  in  response  to  your  call,  but  in  obedience  to  a 
summons  from  the  head  of  the  Church.  On  my  way 
hither  I  have  been  saved  from  sudden  death,  and 
such  a  scene  stirs  the  depths  of  the  spirit.  For  what 
purpose  am  I  here?  and  is  my  mission  to  be  one  of 
good  or  ill  ?  My  effort  shall  be  to  make  my  coming 
here  a  blessing,  and  the  words  of  the  great  apostle 
to  the  Romans,  Chapter  13,  11,  embody  my  first 
conception  of  my  work.  'Knowing  the  time,  that 
now  it  is  high  time  to  awake  out  of  sleep;  for  now 
is  our  salvation  nearer  than  when  we  believed. ' 

"To  know  the  time,  the  period  in  which  we  live, 
the  great  trend  of  our  age,  this  the  apostle  assumes 
as  the  basis  of  the  christian's  duty.  Ours  is  a  time 
when  all  questions  are  being  mooted,  when  founda- 
tion truths  are  rising  to  the  surface,  as  in  the  great, 
formative,  geologic  periods  when  the  granite  was  up- 
heaved to  the  mountain  tops,  and  the  physical  fea- 
tures of  the  earth  were  established. 

"  Men  are  questioning  nature  to  make  her  unlock  her 
treasury  and  yield  her  resources  for  our  use,  and  tell 
us  the  secrets  of  her  laboratory,  and  'we  must  not 
be  afraid  to  open  our  eyes  before  the  face  of  nature. ' 


32  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  Men  are  questioning  the  old  forms  of  belief,  and 
are  formulating  new  ones.  Some  are  asking,  what 
shall  we  believe  ?  Others  ask,  shall  we  believe  any- 
thing at  all?  Has  not  the  era  of  faith  passed  by? 
Is  not  this  the  era  of  experiment,  observation  and 
test,  out  of  which  is  to  come  the  science  and  religion 
of  the  future,  both  resting  on  the  same  substantial 
foundation  of  deduction  framed  by  a  rational  process, 
and  therefore  within  the  grasp  of  every  intelligent 
mind,  a  tangible,  reasonable,  human  religion,  capa- 
ble of  demonstration?  In  the  midst  of  this  molten 
mass  of  thought  and  feeling,  the  Christian  Church  of 
to-day, is  bound  to  rouse  herself.  She  has  passed 
through  the  era  of  persecution,  sealing  her  testimony 
with  her  blood ;  she  was  awake  then,  she  must  not 
be  found  asleep  now. 

"  The  time  when  these  words  were  spoken  was  not 
unlike  our  own  times.  There  was  a  decay  of  fixed 
belief,  a  revolt  against  traditional  religion,  a  con- 
tempt for  its  priests  and  oracles.  The  problems 
which  are  agitating  us  now,  were  then  under  discus- 
sion; some  of  them  had  been  settled,  others  were 
being  debated  with  a  freedom  and  acuteness,  with  a 
force  and  elegance,  which  throw  into  the  shade  our 
modern  philosophers.  There  were  pessimists  and 
optimists,  stoics  and  epicureans,  rationalists  and  ag- 
nostics, in  those  days,  as  there  are  now.  The  pres- 
ent phases  of  thought  are  but  a  recurrence,  within  a 
vast  cycle,  of  the  intellectual  comets  of  that  day; 
the  repetition,  in  nineteenth  century  phrase,  of  the 
old  Greek  forms  of  thought. 

"  But  it  all  had  the  effect  of  rousing  the  cultured 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  33 

apostle,  who  was  a  classical  scholar  as  well  as  thor- 
oughly taught  in  the  school  of  Gamaliel.  When  he 
stood  on  Mars  Hill,  and  saw  Athens  full  of  idols,  his 
heart  was  stirred  within  him ;  when  he  looked  at  the 
current  thought  of  his  time,  he  makes  this  stirring 
appeal,  'It  is  high  time  to  awake  out  of  sleep.' 

"  This  summons  is  enforced  by  the  fact  that  the 
world  around  us  is  awake.  Go  to  a  public  library 
and  search  its  alcoves  of  Science,  History,  or  Fiction, 
and  you  will  find  the  volumes  full  of  these  stirring 
questions. 

"  Scientists  are  telling  us  that  a  man  cannot  be  an 
honest  and  effective  searcher  after  nature's  truths 
unless  he  first  repudiate  religion.  Philosophers  are 
telling  us  that  but  one  conclusion  can  be  reached  by 
the  untrammelled  thinker,  viz:  Agnosticism. 

"  Novelists  are  presenting  us  heroes  and  heroines 
whose  sole  interest  lies  in  the  fact  that  they  have  dis- 
carded the  restraints  of  moral  law,  or  who  enter  into 
a  battle  with  unbelief  only  to  succumb  with  easy 
grace. 

"Yes,  you  will  find  preachers  filling  the  pulpits  of 
Christian  churches,  owing  their  position  in  the  com- 
munity, their  influence,  yes,  their  daily  bread,  to  those 
churches,  and,  all  the  while,  using  their  ministerial 
position  to  undermine  the  creed  of  the  church  which 
they  have  sworn  to  uphold  in  their  ordination  vows. 
All  these  are  awake,  noisy,  active,  bustling,  loud- 
mouthed; therefore  it  is  high  time  for  us  to  awake 
out  of  sleep. 

"  I  shall  in  the  future  have  something  to  say  as  to 
the  attitude  that  it  becomes  us  to  take  toward  these 
3 


34  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

forms  of  belief  or  unbelief;  now  I  will  confine  my- 
self to  the  single  thought  of  the  text. 

"  There  are  three  spiritual  narcotics  against  which  I 
would  warn  you ;  Selfishness,  Worldliness,  and  Ortho- 
doxy. When  we  have  centred  our  thought  upon 
ourselves,  and  our  own  interests,  and  the  petty  con- 
cerns which  involve  us  alone  have  become  the  chief 
object  of  our  thoughts,  then  we  are  lulled  into  a  pro- 
found sleep  toward  everything  else,  our  ears  are  deaf, 
our  eyes  are  closed,  our  hearts  are  hardened,  to  the 
trials,  sorrows  or  struggles  of  those  who  are  nearest 
to  us;  and  as  for  the  great  outside  world,  it  is  as 
though  it  were  not.  For  such  there  is  no  claim  that 
can  assert  itself  for  a  moment  beside  the  unremitting 
demands  which  self  makes  upon  our  whole  time  and 
thought.  But  the  spirit  of  this  age  rebukes  this  sel- 
fishness at  every  turn,  and  re-echoes  the  divine  word, 
'No  man  liveth  unto  himself,'  'All  men  are  of  one 
blood;'  and  the  age  summons  these  sleepers  to 
awaken,  with  the  emphatic  reiteration  which  it  makes 
of  the  universal  brotherhood  of  man. 

"  But  where  selfishness  has  not  hardened  the  heart, 
worldliness  often  makes  it  foul.  There  is  a  sordid 
canker  about  a  man's  heart  when  he  has  come  to  re- 
gard the  gain  of  riches,  the  increase  of  flocks  or 
herds,  of  land  or  money,  as  an  end  in  life.  Then 
all  the  evils  which  attend  upon  the  degradation  of  a 
higher  nature  to  base  and  ignoble  ends,  flock  into 
the  man's  heart,  and  make  it  their  home, — avarice, 
.ust,  envy,  malice,  covetousness,  uncharitableness, 
like  ill-omened  birds,  find  places  to  hatch  their  brood. 
His  fellow  men  become  the  objects  of  his  prey,  and 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  35 

he  is  little  better  than  the  ravening  wolf  that  lives 
only  to  devour  the  weak  or  defenceless.  How  such 
an  one  gloats  over  the  conquest,  by  cunning  or  even 
by  deception,  of  the  innocent  and  honest  victim  of 
one  of  his  shrewd  bargains;  and  soon  cunning  ripens 
into  treachery  and  fraud,  and  the  man's  whole  moral 
nature  succumbs  to  his  greed  of  gain.  Conscience  is 
stilled,  honor  is  hushed  to  sleep,  pity  and  compassion 
are  slain,  in  the  heart  where  this  greed  of  gain  has 
gotten  the  mastery.  My  friends,  this  is  no  time  in 
which  to  let  the  world  see  such  a  vice  creeping  in 
among  those  who  call  themselves  Christians.  It  is 
an  age  of  charity,  of  freedom  for  the  oppressed,  of 
equal  rights,  of  the  organization  of  labor  against  op- 
pression; and  whatever  body  of  men  would  lead  the 
thought  of  to-day,  must  be  on  the  right  side  of  this 
question.  It  is  high  time  to  awake  from  the  sleep 
of  worldliness,  and  let  the  world  see  that  we  are  alive 
to  the  wants  and  sufferings  of  our  fellow  men,  and 
feel  for  them,  and  have  a  remedy  for  them;  or  to  let 
some  one  who  has  such  a  remedy  take  our  place. 

"  But  there  is  a  deadlier  drug  than  either  of  these; 
for  it  is  a  self-evident  truth  that  the  man,  or  body 
of  men,  who  are  infused  with  selfishness  or  worldli- 
ness have  no  mission  in  our  time  but  to  hide  them- 
selves out  of  sight ;  the  man  that  acknowledges  either 
of  these  as  the  prime  motive  power  of  his  life,  stands 
self-convicted. 

"But  there  is  a  spiritual  narcotic  that  is  well-nigh 
irresistible  in  its  hardening  influence.  A  cold,  com- 
fortable, self-assured,  Pharisaic  orthodoxy,  resting 
securely  in  the  form  of  godliness  without  the  power 


36  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

thereof,  intrenched  in  the  security  of  its  pure,  un- 
adulterated theology,  the  assurance  that  it  alone  pos- 
sesses the 'faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints.'  For 
the  outside  world  it  has  the  cold  comfort  crystalized 
in  the  term  'uncovenanted  mercies.'  It  can  whine 
hymns,  recite  scripture  phrases  without  limit,  can 
even  pump  up  a  few  tears  for  seasons  of  special  re- 
ligious fervor,  and  in  general  can  go  through  all  the 
formulas  of  a  wordy  religion,  but,  at  bottom,  the  heart 
is  hard  as  the  nether  millstone.  Its  repose  is  com- 
plete, its  lullaby  is  in  the  correct  form,  and  you  can 
teach  it  nothing,  for  it  has  all  the  stock  phrases  and 
arguments  at  its  finger  ends. 

"  But  how  fatally  it  has  made  torpid  all  those  attri- 
butes of  heart  and  mind  which  religion  is  supposed 
to  awaken  and  stir,  you  will  see  when  you  bring  it 
into  contact  with  any  of  those  forms  in  which  the 
life  of  our  time  manifests  itself. 

"  Send  the  heart  burdened  with  real  trial  and  sor- 
row to  such  an  one,  and  its  stock  phrases  are  like  the 
stab  of  cold  steel.  Send  the  doubting  and  perplexed 
to  such  an  one  with  the  stirring  questions  of  the  time, 
asking  bread,  and  he  is  given  a  stone,  or  the  self- 
righteous  theological  wrath  of  this  strait-laced  for- 
malist is  roused  because  the  enquirer  drops  his  'h' 
in  Shibboleth.  Such  religion  will  not  pass  for  Chris- 
tianity in  our  time,  and  we  may  as  well  awaken  to 
the  fact.  It  is  high  time  for  us  to  wake  up  to  it,  and 
cast  off  the  grave-clothes  of  a  dead  orthodoxy,  and 
show  the  world  a  living  faith,  working  by  love 
and  purifying  the  heart,  and  making  us  love  our 
neighbor  as  ourselves. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  37 

"  And  the  reason  given  by  the  apostle  should  give 
another  impetus  to  our  awaking,  'Now  is  our  salva- 
tion nearer  than  when  we  believed.'  Yes,  every 
such  stirring  of  the  dry  bones,  every  such  shaking 
of  the  nations,  brings  the  salvation  of  the  world  so 
much  the  nearer.  Every  time  that  the  tree  is  shaken 
the  dead  twigs  and  leaves,  the  sickly  and  worm-eaten 
fruit  falls,  and  the  ripe  fruit  has  the  larger  flow  of 
sap  put  into  it.  Every  crisis  which  the  church  passes 
through,  every  assault  which  she  undergoes,  brings 
out  the  truth,  sets  it  in  clearer  lights,  casts  off  nar- 
rowing forms  and  modes  of  belief,  broadens  her  sym- 
pathies, strengthens  her  influence. 

"Viewed  from  any  possible  standpoint,  the  result 
must  be  to  bring  our  salvation  nearer,  to  emancipate 
us  from  vulgar  errors,  to  put  us  on  the  true  path  to 
the  final  and  ultimate  form  of  religion.  If  Chris- 
tianity is  all  wrong,  her  foundations  uncertain  and 
vague,  her  teaching  misleading,  her  morality  insuffi- 
cient, her  revelation  unsatisfactory,  we  are  about  to 
learn  that,  if  the  combined  assault  of  men  and  women 
can  show  it;  and  our  salvation  is  nearer  than  when 
we  believed,  for  now  will  the  philosophers  tell  us 
wherein  our  salvation  lies.  But  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  Christianity  is  right,  then  will  she  surely  be 
able  to  vindicate  herself  now  as  she  has  done  in  the 
past,  and  as  every  possible  assault  is  being  made,  we 
may  anticipate  that  her  endurance  of  this  crucial  test 
must  stop  the  mouths  of  her  enemies,  or,  at  least, 
leave  her  friends  firmly  established  in  the  faith;  and 
therefore  our  salvation  is  nearer  than  when  we  be- 
lieved.    For  my  part  I  am  ready  for  the  issue,  but 


3  8  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

let  us  meet  it  awake;  wherever  the  truth  may  lead 
us,  wherever  an  honest,  open-eyed,  candid,  considera- 
tion of  the  arguments  on  both  sides  of  this  grave 
question  lands  us,  there  let  us  stand  firm  and  un- 
wavering, and  say  as  Philip  said,  'now  we  have  seen 
with  our  own  eyes,  and  know  ;'  but  do  not  let  the 
issue  find  us  asleep. 

"  This  then,  is  my  conception  of  my  mission  among 
you,  to  stand  side  by  side  with  you,  with  eager  and 
searching  heart,  gazing  open-eyed  at  these  great 
questions,  asking  only  to  be  led  into  the  knowledge 
of  the  truth. 

"  But  let  us  understand  distinctly,  that  Christianity 
is  not  on  trial  any  more  than  infidelity,  that  there  is 
no  presumption  against  her  truths,  that  we  are  not 
entering  into  a  warfare,  but  are  honest  searchers 
after  truth;  if  infidelity,  so-called,  can  show  us  a 
deeper  religious  philosophy,  a  higher  view  of  the 
nature  and  destiny  of  man,  a  better  morality,  more 
inspiring  motives,  holier  lives,  purer  and  sweeter  con- 
solation in  sorrow,  and  character  moulded  on  higher 
principles,  and  all  this  on  the  basis  of  a  clearer  and 
more  substantial  revelation  than  the  teaching  of 
Christ,  then,  in  the  name  of  truth  and  purity  and 
goodness,  let  us  turn  to  infidelity.  But  everywhere 
where  our  eyes  behold  the  light  which  is  purest, 
sweetest,  strongest,  most  invigorating,  thither  let  us 
turn,  and  walk  in  the  light." 

There  were  various  comments  on  the  young  domi- 
nie's stirring  sermon ;  the  young  people  were  charmed 
with  it,  his  voice  was  so  lovely,  he  was  so  handsome 
and  so  much  in  earnest. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  39 

Deacon  Shelton  said,  "  He  means  well,  and  is  not 
too  old  to  learn;  there  is  power  in  the  young  man." 
This  the  deacon  was  fain  to  acknowledge,  for  the 
sermon  had  kept  him  awake,  while  in  the  old  domi- 
nie's time,  being  full  of  unshaken  confidence,  he 
could  always  take  a  comfortable  doze  after  sixthly, 
and  feel  sure  of  the  result;  but  under  this  young  man 
he  was  restless;  so  was  Deacon  Shrake,  especially 
when  the  fruits  of  covetousness  were  being  delineated. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AT  the  Fall  meeting  of  Presbytery,  Henry  Dins- 
more  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  something 
of  the  social  life,  as  well  as  the  ecclesiastical  work 
of  his  fellow  presbyters.  He  had  never  been  thrown 
into  any  intimate  association  with  ministers,  and  had 
gotten  the  notion  that  a  solemnity,  amounting  almost 
to  austerity,  marked  their  social  intercourse ;  that  the 
grave  and  earnest  debates,  rising  sometimes  to  a  de- 
gree that  might  be  called  heated,  which  characterized 
their  discussions  in  the  meetings  of  the  Presbytery, 
were  transferred  to  the  recess  between  the  meetings, 
and  were  carried  on  over  the  dinner  table. 

Especially  did  he  hold  in  awe  a  certain  Dr.  Henry 
L.  Bainbridge,  who  was  one  of  the  war-horses  of  the 
Assembly,  who  stood  for  all  that  he  regarded  as  the 
essentially  old  and  orthodox  views  in  theology,  with 
a  vehemence  of  thought  and  utterance,  with  a  fire  of 
eye  and  thunder  of  voice,  and  strong  speech,  rising 
often  to  eloquence,  that  made  him  an  antagonist  to 
be  dreaded. 

In  this  region  the  meetings  of  Presbytery  were 
largely  social,  as  well  as  religious,  gatherings.  Most 
of  the  ministers,  with  their  elders,  drove  to  the  place 
of  meeting,  over  the  hills  and  through  the  valleys; 
and,  as  one  drew  nearer  to  the  village  where  the 

40 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  41 

meeting  was  to  be,  from  converging  roads,  there 
would  gather  a  number  of  these  carriages,  and  the 
long  string  of  vehicles  would  jog  merrily  along  with 
salutations  shouted  or  waved  from  one  to  another. 
At  some  comfortable  farm-house  by  the  way,  well 
known  for  the  hospitality  of  its  good  man  and  the 
chicken-pie  of  the  good  wife,  the  caravan  would  halt 
for  lunch,  and  take  up  their  way,  mightily  refreshed 
in  mind  and  body.  The  meetings  always  lasted  three, 
and  often  four,  days,  and  gave  the  pastors  time  to 
talk  over  with  each  other  the  trials  and  the  prospects 
of  their  work,  and  discuss  all  sorts  of  topics  that 
could  not  come  before  the  Presbytery  as  a  body. 
Those  who  lived  in  the  larger  towns  could  generally 
command  the  services  of  one  of  the  regular  stage 
lines;  and  these  were  full  to  overflowing. 

On  one  of  these  stage-rides  Henry  saw  something 
of  the  humorous  side  of  the  great  Boanerges,  whose 
name  was  such  a  terror  to  the  younger  ministers,  and 
it  dispelled  his  fears,  once  for  all. 

They  had  halted  for  dinner  at  the  half-way  house, 
and  as  the  ministers  and  elders  gathered  around  the 
stage  door  to  resume  their  places  for  the  afternoon 
journey,  there  came,  elbowing  through  the  crowd,  a 
poorly  dressed  man,  far  gone  in  his  cups.  Dr.  Bain- 
bridge  had  taken  his  place  on  the  rear  seat,  with  a 
brother  minister  beside  him;  the  driver  shoved  the 
drunken  man  aside,  and  told  him  roughly  that  he  was 
not  fit  to  ride  on  the  inside  with  gentlemen,  nor  on 
the  outside,  for  fear  he  would  break  his  neck.  The 
poor  fellow  stood,  in  maudlin  hopelessness,  staring 
into  the  stage. 


42  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  How,  the  dickens,  will  Nance  and  the  kid  git 
along  without  me  to-night?"  he  said,  almost  in  tears. 

"They'll  do  a  blamed  sight  better  without  you 
than  with  you, "  retorted  Tom  Burton  roughly,  "  Git ! 
I  tell  you,  for  you're  not  goin'  to  ride  inside  with 
these  gentlemen." 

"It's  hard  on  Nance,"  said  the  poor  drunkard 
ruefully.  "  I'll  have  to  stay  here  all  night,  and  if  I 
do  I'll  git  drunk  as  a  beast  before  night.  Yes,  I 
will;  I  know  I  will." 

Then  Dr.  Bainbridge  leaned  out  of  the  stage,  and 
told  Tom  to  let  him  come  in,  and  they  would  look 
after  him.  Up  mounted  the  poor  fellow,  and  sat 
himself  down  on  the  middle  seat,  with  his  back  to 
Dr.  Bainbridge,  and,  facing  him,  on  the  front  seat, 
was  the  Doctor's  elder.  The  tipsy  fellow  leered  tri- 
umphantly at  Tom  as  he  shut  the  door  and  put  up 
the  steps.  Tom  muttered,  "They'll  have  their  full 
o'  ye  before  they've  gone  far;"  and  mounted  to  his 
seat. 

Everything  went  smoothly  enough  with  this  un- 
couth guest  of  the  parsons,  until,  after  a  half  hour's 
blinking  with  owlish  and  studied  gravity  of  demeanor, 
he  addressed  the  Doctor's  elder. 

"  Who  be  ye  fellows  anyway  ?  Hang  me !  ef  I  can 
make  ye  out.  You're  a'most  the  queerest  lot  I  ever 
struck." 

"We  are  Presbyterian  ministers  and  elders,  on  our 
way  to  the  meeting  of  Presbytery, "  said  the  Doctor's 
elder. 

"Give  us  your  flipper,  old  chap,"  said  the  tipsy 
man.     "My  name's  Bill  Nash,  and  I'm  a  Presbyte- 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  43 

rian  and  an  Old-school  Presbyterian,"  and  he  smiled 
a  genial  welcome  on  them  all  as  he  shook  hands  with 
Elder  McBride.  Then  drawing  himself  up  haughtily, 
he  said,  "I  hope  you  ain't  New-school  men." 

"Oh!  No,"  answered  Mr.  McBride,  "we  are  all 
Old-school  men,  dyed  in  the  grain." 

"That's  right,"  said  Bill,  heartily,  "now  I  feel  to 
home.  Why,  I've  been  an  Old-school  man  a  great 
many  years;  I'm  one  of  Dr.  Bainbridge's  men;  he 
converted  me." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  whole 
stage,  and  Henry  Dinsmore  looked  quickly  at  the 
Doctor  to  see  how  he  would  take  the  laugh;  his 
mouth  was  twitching,  and  his  eye  twinkling.  The 
mischievous  elder  kept  stirring  Bill  on  to  talk,  which 
was  not  hard  to  do,  as  he  had  the  proud  conscious- 
ness that,  somehow,  he  had  made  a  hit. 

"Do  you  know  the  Doctor?"  said  Bill  to  the 
elder.  "  He's  a  great  man  on  theology,  and  has 
convertin'  power  not  to  be  beat  by  any  man  I  ever 
see. " 

"Yes,"  said  the  elder,  "  I  know  him." 

"Did  he  convert  you?"  said  Bill,  leering  at  him, 
"you  look  like  one  of  his  boys;  I  alius  think  I  can 
tell  'em  at  sight." 

This  time  the  laugh  fell  on  McBride,  in  which  the 
Doctor  joined,  so  heartily  as  to  draw  Bill's  attention 
on  him,  and  facing  round,  with  some  difficulty,  he 
bore  down  on  the  Doctor  with 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  old  crony  ?  Do  you 
know  Doctor  Bainbridge  too?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  think  I  do." 


44  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"Well,  you  needn't  answer  that  way,"  said  Bill, 
with  a  touch  of  contempt  in  his  tone.  "  Either  you 
do  know  him  or  you  don't.  There  ain't  any  mistakin' 
him.     Does  he  know  you?" 

"Well,  yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  guess  he  does." 

"There  you  are  '  guessin'  '  again,"  said  Bill  an- 
grily. "  Can't  ye  give  a  straight  out,  honest  answer 
to  a  fellow?     Do  you  know  Dr.  Bainbridge?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Doctor,  soberly,  amid  the 
smothered  laughter  of  the  rest.  "  Yes,  I  know  him 
to  my  cost.  He  has  given  me  more  trouble  than  any 
living  man." 

"Well  why  don't  you  shake  him  off,  and  be  done 
with  him,  as  I  have,"  said  Bill,  sympathetically. 

"I  can't,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I  can't  get  rid  of 
him." 

"Well  what's  the  matter  twixt  you  and  him?" 
said  Bill;  then,  with  a  knowing  wink,  "I  know 
what's  the  matter.  You've  been  tradin'  hosses  with 
the  Doctor." 

A  tremendous  roar  greeted  this  solution  of  the 
trouble  which  Bill  had  given  with  a  tender  sympathy 
and  a  wise  shake  of  the  head,  that  added  an  irre- 
sistibly comic  flavor  to  his  words.  Encouraged  by 
such  applause,  he  plunged  on,  "You  mustn't  do  that, 
you  know,  for  the  Doctor's  a  keener  on  a  horse. 
He  was  bred  in  the  blue-grass  region ;  and  there  ain't 
divinity  enough  on  earth  to  knock  hoss  out  of  a  man 
if  it  gits  into  him  early.  There  ain't  a  man  in  this 
State  drives  a  finer  span,  or  knows  how  to  handle 
the  ribbons  better  than  the  Doctor.  It'll  do  to  go 
and  hear  him   preach,    as  much   as  you   like;    that 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  45 

won't  hurt  you  a  bit,  and  it  may  do  you  good;  it  did 
me  heaps  o'  good ;  but  don't  you  never  be  fool  enough 
to  swap  hosses  with  him  again." 

Peals  of  laughter  encouraged  Bill  as  he  cornered 
the  Doctor  and  delivered  him  this  homily  on  horse- 
trading. 

When  they  reached  their  destination,  Bill  fired  a 
parting  shot  of  admonition  at  the  Doctor  to  keep 
clear  of  horse-trading  with  Doctor  Bainbridge. 

As  they  got  out  of  the  stage,  Bill  stood  a  little  to 
one  side,  while  a  crowd  gathered  round  to  welcome 
the  party  on  their  arrival ;  and  the  famous  Doctor 
was  the  recipient  of  special  attentions. 

Bill  stepped  up  to  his  friend  the  elder,  and  asked 
him  '  Who  is  that  old  feller  that  got  done  in  a  trade, 
him  with  that  old  soft  felt  hat  and  big  necktie?" 

"Why,  that's  Dr.  Bainbridge,"  said  the  elder. 

Off  lurched  Bill,  with  eager  but  unsteady  gait, 
and,  pushing  his  way  into  the  crowd,  almost  threw 
himself  on  the  Doctor's  neck,  as  he  astonished  the 
Doctor's  circle  of  friends  with  his  maudlin  greeting — 

"Why,  Doctor,  don't  you  know  me?  I'm  Bill 
Nash,  an  Old-school  Presbyterian ;  you  converted 
me." 

Those  who  had  winced  under  the  Doctor's  invec- 
tive certainly  had  the  opportunity,  for  once  in  their 
lives,  of  seeing  him  quail  and  leave  the  field  to  his 
adversary,  without  even  trying  to  make  a  stand. 

But,  for  one  at  least,  it  opened  a  new  side  to  the 
great  theologian's  character,  and  made  Henry  Dins- 
more  feel  that  he  was  not  unassailable,  and  therefore, 
he  felt,  not  unapproachable. 


4  6  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

There  was  great  magnetism  about  the  man,  a 
sense  of  breadth  and  fulness  to  his  nature,  a  large- 
hearted  generosity,  which  made  one  feel  that  there 
was  room  for  you  in  his  great  heart,  if  you  could  find 
your  corner.  He  was  a  born  leader  of  men,  and 
would  have  been  distinguished  in  the  state  or  in  the 
army,  if  that  had  been  his  chosen  path. 

To  him  therefore,  in  the  intervals  of  the  meetings 
of  Presbytery,  Henry  Dinsmore  unburdened  his  heart 
regarding  his  purposes  and  their  realization. 

"  Well,  my  dear  young  brother,  the  first  thing  for 
you  to  learn  is  that  the  Lord  makes  men ;  they  are 
not  the  creatures  of  circumstance.  The  second  thing 
to  learn  is  that  He  has  made  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men,  in  order  to  compose  the  great  unit  which  we 
call  humanity ;  thirdly,  that  each  one  of  these  units 
has  its  place  and  value  in  the  mass,  even  the  ciphers; 
and  you  have  got  to  respect  each  one  for  what  he  is 
worth ;  then  study  what  he  is,  then  try  to  develop  him 
into  his  best.  You  can't  create  him  over,  and  you 
would  make  an  awful  mess  of  it  if  you  could;  you 
can  develop  him,  with  God's  help;  and  that  is  your 
mission  in  life. 

"  There  are  some  people,  who  know  nothing  about 
us  ministers,  who  think  that  because  we  have  settled 
convictions,  have  thought  out  and  set  in  order  our 
views  on  religious  truth,  that,  therefore,  we  think  all 
men  who  are  religious  must  think  just  alike,  must 
feel  just  alike,  and  act  just  alike.  Well,  they  are 
welcome  to  their  opinion,  if  it  amuses  them;  but 
there  is  not  one  grain  of  truth  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

"But,  Doctor  Bainbridge,"  interjected  Henry,  who 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  47 

was  startled  by  this  train  of  thought,  "  we  are  cer- 
tainly bound  to  teach  the  standards  of  our  church, 
and  the  theology  that  has  been  her  glory  and  has 
made  her  the  defender  of  the  faith." 

"  Of  course  you  are  bound  so  to  teach,  if  you  are 
a  Presbyterian  minister,  for  that  is  what,  you  have 
pledged  yourself  to  do,  because  you  declare  it  to  be 
your  own  free,  honest  conviction.  But  there  is  no 
compulsion  about  it.  You  come  forward  and  say 
you  heartily  believe  a  certain  system  of  doctrine  and 
want  to  preach  it,  and  we  tell  you  to  study  it  care- 
fully and  understand  fully  and  precisely  what  it  is, 
and  at  the  end  of  that  course  of  study,  we  examine 
you  thoroughly,  and  ask  you  to  state  whether  you 
adhere  to  those  views  with  which  you  entered  upon 
your  course  of  study,  and  leave  you  to  say  yes,  or 
no.  If  you  declare  your  belief  in  them,  and  you  de- 
sire to  preach  and  teach  them,  we  give  you  our  license 
and  authority,  which  commends  you  to  all  our 
churches,  as  a  man  fitted,  in  our  judgment,  to  teach 
and  preach.  We  do  not  ask  nor  expect  that  the 
Methodist  ministry  or  the  Episcopal  ministry  shall 
teach  this  theology,  and,  even  in  our  own  church, 
we  recognize  a  very  broad  margin  of  individual  opin- 
ion as  allowable." 

"  We  certainly  are  reputed  to  be  rigid  in  our  doc- 
trines and  in  our  enforcement  of  orthodox  views," 
said  Henry. 

"  We  are  reputed  to  be  a  great  many  things  that 
we  are  not,  sour-visaged  and  grim  in  conduct  and 
belief;  and  you  have  found  how  far  away  our  merry 
gatherings  are  from  any  such  reality  as  that;  so  that 


48  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

the  fun  and  good  stories  of  our  ministry  are  a  prov- 
erb among  our  people.  I  abominate  that  word  rigid, 
nor  have  I  ever  in  my  ministry  seen  any  attempt  at 
a  rigid  enforcement  of  our  doctrine  or  mode  of  wor- 
ship. We  have  the  ecclesiastical  care  and  charge  of 
a  certain  set  of  congregations,  who  accept  a  certain 
interpretation  of  scripture,  and  have  formulated  that 
belief  just  as  clearly,  precisely  and  definitely  as  we 
know  how,  and  yet  without  malice  or  bitterness 
toward  any  who  believe  differently  from  ourselves. 
A  man  comes  to  us,  neither  driven  nor  coaxed  thereto, 
and  says,  I  believe  as  you  do,  will  you  authorize  me 
to  preach  among  your  people?  We  examine  him 
carefully  to  see  that  he  does  understand  distinctly 
what  he  believes,  and  license  him  to  preach.  This  is 
the  only  course  consistent  with  good  faith  to  all 
parties,  and  implies  neither  rigidity  nor  force  on  our 
part.  I  am  sick  of  this  balderdash.  A  man  is  free 
when  he  comes  to  us,  and  he  is  free  to  go  just  when 
he  pleases;  he  is  not,  of  course,  free  to  stay  and 
profess  to  believe  one  thing  and  teach  another;  that 
is  dishonest  to  himself  and  to  the  people  of  our  par- 
ishes. But  I  say  always  and  ever,  let  a  man  preach 
what  he  believes;  no  other  preaching  is  worth  a 
rush.  If  he  believes  our  standards,  let  him  preach 
them,  heart  and  soul,  and  stand  up  to  his  belief;  if 
he  does  not,  let  him  go  to  the  church  whose  stand- 
ards he  can  accept  and  preach  to  them;  but  if  he  be- 
lieves nothing,  then,  in  God's  name,  let  him  stop 
preaching,  and  go  to  some  honest  trade,  into  which 
he  can  put  his  whole  heart  and  strength."  The  old 
Doctor  grew  earnest,  and  thundered  forth  these  sen- 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  49 

tences  on  the  young  man  as  if  he  were  the  imperson- 
ation of  a  great  assembly. 

"  I  am  not  one  whit  at  a  loss  as  to  my  own  belief, 
Doctor,"  said  Henry,  amused  at  the  way  in  which 
this  speech  had  been  hurtled  at  him.  "  I  am  very 
certain  and  hearty  in  my  acceptance  of  our  stand- 
ards, strictly  interpreted;  but  I  am  very  uncertain  of 
my  power  to  cope  with  the  difficulties  of  my  work. 
Those  mountain  farmers  seem  to  have  fallen  asleep 
on  their  hill-tops;  and  I  do  not  know  how  to  wake 
them." 

"  My  young  brother,  let  me  counsel  you  a  bit;  first 
of  all  be  sure  of  your  facts.  You  know  that  the 
signs  of  life  are  not  always  the  same.  There  is  a 
quiet,  reserved  manner,  often  seen  in  people  who 
have  lived  apart  from  their  fellow  men,  which  is  the 
result  of  shyness  and  diffidence  that  is  timid  in  giving 
expression  to  feeling,  but  which  only  exemplifies  the 
proverb  'that  still  waters  run  deep.'  Underneath 
that  silent,  shy  reserve,  lie  the  thoughts  and  passions 
that  find  utterance  in  those  who  have  the  power  of 
utterance.  So,  before  you  begin  to  wake  these 
people,  just  study  them  a  bit,  and  see  which  are 
awake;  for  if  you  do  not,  some  of  them  will  give  you 
a  start.  Then  remember  that  every  human  soul  is 
an  individual  flower,  fashioned  by  the  hand  of  God, 
and  developed  by  experiences  peculiar,  in  some  re- 
spects, to  itself,  and  different  from  any  other.  That 
product  is  not  to  be  roughly  laid  hold  of  by  you,  to 
shape  according  to  your  will  and  change  to  suit  your 
own  notions.  Reverence  the  human  souls  with  which 
you  have  to  deal;  the  meanest  of  them  can  teach 
4 


5°  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

you  something;  study  and  ponder  well  the  experi- 
ences through  which  One  wiser  than  you  has  led  and 
formed  them,  and,  out  of  this  study,  learn  how  you 
may  lead  them  onward  and  upward.  Be  content  if 
you  see  that  they  are  growing  and  developing  natu- 
rally and  sweetly  under  God's  gracious  influence,  as 
flowers  grow,  slowly,  under  his  sunshine  and  dew; 
and  study  them,  so  as  not  to  make  the  mistake  of 
trying  to  shape  them  all  after  one  set  pattern. 

"  Above  all,  teach  them,  by  precept  and  example, 
that  religion  is  not  a  matter  of  creed  or  forms  of  be- 
lief in  words  or  worship,  but  that  it  is  God's  truth 
transforming  life  and  heart,  belief  converted  into 
action.  How  often  have  I  seen  men  steal  the  livery 
of  heaven  to  robe  the  devil  of  their  pride  and  indo- 
lence, when  they  declared  their  trust  in  God's  grace 
and  in  His  transforming  power,  etc.,  etc.  ad  nauseam; 
by  all  of  which  they  meant  only  to  shelter  their  own 
lazy  indifference  to  exertion.  God's  grace  is  the 
man  nerving  himself  to  do  what  is  right,  and  to  shun 
what  is  evil ;  and  the  man  who  prates  of  trust  in 
God,  and  goes  on  doing  his  own  way,  is  one  of  the 
saddest  instances  of  the  perversion  of  truth  into 
a  blinding  error.  We  must  be  earnest,  and  we  must 
be  honest  about  this  matter  of  religion ;  or  else 
there  is  no  use  of  bothering  ourselves  about  it  at 
all." 

Such  a  talk  as  this  with  such  a  man  was  an  era  in 
the  young  minister's  life  and  as  he  told  of  his  own 
plans  and  hopes  the  Doctor  listened  with  interest, 
with  here  and  there  a  pungent,  and  often  witty,  pa- 
renthesis thrown  in. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  51 

This  conference  made  these  two  men  warm  friends, 
and  brought  them  into  correspondence;  and  many  a 
visit,  helpful  and  suggestive  to  the  younger  man,  in 
after  years,  was  the  outcome  of  this  first  meeting; 
for  it  was  the  Doctor's  aim  not  to  quench,  but  only 
to  temper  the  ardor  of  youth. 


CHAPTER   V. 

IT  was  hard  for  the  restless,  earnest  spirit  of  Dins- 
more  to  find  a  field  for  its  exercise,  in  the  still 
life  of  this  out-of-the-way  community.  There  were 
no  mills,  with  their  scant-paid  and  overworked  opera- 
tives, in  whose  behalf  he  could  exert  himself  by 
remonstrance  with  their  employers.  Among  these 
well-to-do  farmers  there  was,  here  and  there,  one 
who,  through  shiftlessness  or  misfortune,  needed 
help;  but  the  help  was  forthcoming  from  some  kind- 
hearted  neighbors,  before  Dinsmore  could  find  a 
chance  to  let  any  one  know  of  it;  and  he  himself 
often  knew  of  the  distress  only  by  hearing  of  its  re- 
lief. It  was  of  no  use  to  organize  a  charitable  soci- 
ety where  want  was  sure  to  call  in  some  kind  neigh- 
bor before  it  was  apparent  to  any  outsider. 

In  the  village  there  was  an  organized  aid  society 
of  the  most  efficient  kind  that  he  had  ever  seen  or 
read  of;  it  was  in  session  every  day,  and  its  presi- 
dent, secretary  and  visiting  committee  acted  in  per- 
fect harmony,  for  they  were  united  in  the  person  of 
the  widow  Livingston,  who  was,  in  the  literal  sense 
of  the  words,  a  "mother  in  Israel."  She  was  one  of 
those  in  whom  charity  had  wrought  her  perfect  work, 
and,  instead  of  exhausting  itself  in  soft  emotions  or 
gentle  words  of  pity,  wrought  itself  out  in  deeds  of 
kindness. 

52 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  53 

She  had  been  for  a  long  while,  a  widow;  her  only 
daughter  had  died  some  twelve  years  before,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-one,  and  her  son,  who  was  now  about 
thirty,  had  never  married.  She  had  nothing  at 
home,  on  which  to  expend  the  wealth  of  her  motherly 
feelings,  and  therefore  her  heart  was  full  of  sympa- 
thy for  all  who  were  in  need.  Her  very  aspect  was 
typical  of  her  character.  She  was  short  and  fat, 
with  broad  shoulders,  and  no  neck  at  all,  her  head 
being  set  down  on  her  shoulders,  as  a  hen  withdraws 
her  head  into  her  feathers  when  she  nestles  with  her 
brood  under  her  wings.  A  broad,  white  kerchief 
round  her  neck,  always  spotless  and  unruffled,  was 
a  sort  of  pillow  for  her  chin.  She  had  small,  cosey 
eyes,  which  had  never  been  large  or  restless.  The 
forefinger  of  her  right  hand  was  crooked  at  the  first 
joint,  and  she  had  an  odd  fashion  of  passing  it  over 
her  lips  as  she  talked  with  you,  in  a  way  that  sug- 
gested that  she  was  not  telling  you  all  that  she  knew. 

Her  knowledge  on  the  subject  of  the  good  things 
that  go  toward  making  one  of  the  chief  of  our  crea- 
ture comforts,  was  amazing;  and  in  particular,  her 
knowledge  regarding  the  art  of  cookery  for  the  sick, 
the  jellies  and  broths  that  would  tempt  the  nerveless 
palate  of  the  invalid,  and  the  toothsome  cookies  and 
ginger-snaps  that  would  make  the  children's  eyes 
glisten  and  their  mouths  water,  all  this  witnessed  not 
only  to  her  culinary  attainments,  but  also  to  her 
broad  humanity;  for  never  having  known  a  day's 
sickness  herself,  being  blessed  with  a  solid  and  hearty 
appetite,  she  had  gained  her  knowledge,  not  from  her 
own  experience,  but  from  her  sympathy  with  others. 


54  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Her  art  in  dishing  up  and  arranging  these  dainties 
was,  in  itself,  a  triumph  of  Christian  charity. 

She  knew  how  the  delicate  sensibilities  of  an  in- 
valid were  won  by  a  neatly  arranged  menu.  In  her 
pantry  there  were  baskets  of  various  sizes  and  shapes, 
but  each  vieing  with  the  other  to  look  neat  and  tidy. 
"They  keep  themselves  clean,"  she  said.  On  the 
shelf  above  these,  was  an  array  of  pet  little  dishes, 
which  she  had  picked  up  from  time  to  time,  with  the 
discriminating  taste  and  pleasure  which  the  connois- 
seur in  china  feels  when  he  has  secured  some  gem 
for  his  collection.  There  were  little  pipkins,  and 
tea-pots,  and  broth  bowls,  and  jelly  glasses. 

Underneath  the  shelves,  was  a  drawer  filled  with 
the  whitest  of  linen,  and  with  red  and  yellow  doilies. 

In  the  locked  closet,  next  to  the  china  shelves, 
what  was  there  not  ?  A  child  whose  eyes  had  once 
rested  on  those  hallowed  depths,  whose  nostrils  had 
been  saluted  with  the  ineffable  odor  wafted  from  it, 
never  forgot  it ;  nor  could  later  gastronomic  enjoy- 
ments at  all  equal  or  efface  the  memory  of  that  whiff. 
There  are  grown  men  and  women  to-day,  who  have 
eaten  pate'  de  foie  gras  and  truffles  and  all  that  the 
cafes  of  Paris  can  offer,  who,  through  it  all,  retain 
a  distinct  recollection  of  the  odor  from  Mother  Liv- 
ingston's charity  cupboard. 

It  was  of  her  chicken  pie  that  the  old  rector  had 
spoken  so  affectionately,  and  you  may  be  sure  that, 
for  her  own  pastor,  the  old  lady  killed  the  fattest 
hen  that  she  could  find,  and  made  the  puffiest  paste 
that  she  could  roll,  and  was  really  fidgety  as  to  how 
the   oven  was  going  to   bake  that  afternoon,   and 


A    HILLSIDE   PARISH.  55 

came  near  spoiling  the  fire  by  peeping  into  the  oven 
so  often.  She  knew  that  she  had  a  reputation  fof 
her  butter  and  her  chicken  pie,  and  she  was  very 
proud  of  that  fame;  she  did  not  know  that  any  one 
ever  thought  or  said  anything  about  her  charity  cup- 
board, and  she  was  not  a  bit  proud  of  that,  for  any 
one  could  make  jelly  and  broth,  and  do  that  plain 
kind  of  cooking,  for  sick  folks;  but  pie-crust  was 
another  thing,  altogether. 

It  was  only  by  accident  that  Dinsmore  discovered 
the  charity  cupboard;  and,  when  he  saw  it,  he  was 
somewhat  disconcerted.  This  was  one  of  those  dull 
natures  which  it  was  his  mission  to  arouse  to  a  wider 
view  of  life  and  its  opportunities,  and  he  felt  how 
wisely  Dr.  Bainbridge  had  counselled  him,  to  be 
sure  of  his  person  before  he  tried  the  process  of 
arousing.  He  pictured  to  himself  the  scene  of  his 
coming  to  the  widow  Livingston  and  suggesting  that 
she  was  leading  a  purposeless  life,  and,  having  no 
family  duties  to  occupy  her,  that  she  might  find  em- 
ployment in  ministering  to  the  wants  of  others;  and, 
after  he  had  freed  his  mind  of  such  pastoral  coun- 
sels, she  would  have  led  him  back  to  her  pantry,  and 
showed  him  the  charity  cupboard.  The  very  thought 
of  it  made  him  feel  hot  all  over; — but,  mercifully,  he 
had  escaped  this,  by  heeding  the  good  Doctor's  coun- 
sel, first  to  learn  what  was  in  a  man  before  you  tried 
to  lead  him  out. 

"Well,  how  d'ye  like  our  folks,  Mr.  Dinsmore?" 
said  Mrs.  Livingston,  after  the  chicken  pie,  which 
had  fulfilled  all  her  best  anticipations,  had  been  de- 
spatched, along  with  the  rest  of  those  numberless 


56  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

dishes  which  go  to  make  up  the  supper  at  which  the 
country  pastor  is  the  guest. 

Henry  wished  that  the  question  could  have  turned 
upon  the  country,  rather  than  the  people;  on  the 
former  he  could  have  been  enthusiastic,  on  the  latter 
he  could  not. 

"  I  can  hardly  answer  your  question,  Mrs.  Living- 
ston,"  he  said.  "There  are  some  very  good  people 
here,  to  whom  I  am  already  in  debt  for  kindness 
shown  me ;  and  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  come  to  love 
my  people  as  I  hope  that  they  will  come  to  love  me." 
He  was  embarrassed  by  the  shrewd  little  eyes  blink- 
ing at  him,  and  the  crooked  forefinger  passing  over 
the  mouth,  so  that  he  could  not  tell  whether  the  old 
lady  were  smiling  or  not.  It  was  very  perplexing, 
and  he  was  more  at  a  disadvantage  with  this  plain 
old  country  woman,  than  he  had  felt  in  the  presence 
of  women  of  the  world,  in  society;  but  he  was  im- 
mensely relieved  by  the  reflection  that  he  had  not 
read  her  a  lecture  on  practical  charity. 

She  questioned  of  one  and  another;  whether  he 
had  called  on  them,  and  found  them  at  home,  and 
talked  with  them;  and  what  he  made  out  of  the 
widow  Cranston's  state  of  mind;  and  whether  he 
thought  Amanda  Williams,  the  lame  girl,  would  ever 
be  well  again;  and  so  on  from  one  thing  to  another 
she  gossiped  along,  in  her  gentle  way;  telling  him, 
in  her  homely  fashion,  heart  histories,  sad  and  deep 
experiences  of  life,  its  sins  and  its  sorrows,  which  he 
had  not  at  all  discovered  in  his  intercourse  with  these 
people,  who  seemed  all  cast  in  much  the  same  mould, 
as  far  as  he  could  see,  and  who  spoke  in  the  same 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  57 

restrained,  commonplace  way.  It  was  a  great  lesson 
to  the  ardent,  young  minister,  with  his  grand  plans 
and  schemes,  and  he  was  not  above  laying  it  to  heart. 
When  she  had  gone  the  round  of  her  humble  friends, 
she  had  nothing  to  say  about  her  well-to-do  neigh- 
bors, for  she  and  they  had  only  touched  hands  or 
exchanged  courtesies ;  but  with  these  others  she  had 
touched  hearts  and  exchanged  experiences. 

And  then,  to  Dinsmore's  further  discomfiture,  she 
turned  upon  him.  "  I  did  want  you  to  come  and  live 
with  me,  seein'  as  your  mother  wan't  comin'  to  look 
after  you,"  she  said  heartily;  "but,  you  know,  it 
don't  always  do  for  the  minister  to  live  with  one  of 
his  people;  but  he  ought  to  hev  a  home  of  his  own, 
— some  of  our  folks  don't  feel  as  if  a  minister  was 
real  settled  like  among  us  when  he's  jest  stoppin'  at 
the  hotel,  like  a  summer  boarder."  Then  she  passed 
her  forefinger  over  her  lips,  and  Dinsmore  thought  it 
hid  a  smile. 

"  Well,  my  mother  can't  come  to  live  with  me,  Mrs. 
Livingston;  and  I  don't  see  just  how  I  can  have  a 
home  any  other  way,"  he  answered. 

"Others  has  done  it,"  she  said;  and  then  Dins- 
more  was  sure  the  forefinger  hid  a  smile. 

"Oh!  yes,  I  know  there  have  been  hermits;  but 
the  day  for  them  is  past,"  he  said,  rather  put  to  it. 

"Yes,  I  never  had  nothin'  to  do  with  any  hermits, 
but  I  gather,  from  what  I've  heard  o'  them,  that 
they  hed  such  dirty  and  disagreeable  ways  that  it 
was  a  mercy  they  lived  alone.  But  my  opinion  is 
that  a  young  minister  is  not  up  to  the  full  of  his  use- 
fulness until  he's  married."     She  had  done  beating 


58  A    HILLSIDE   PARISH. 

about  the  bush.  "  There  are 'various  hindrances  he 
meets,  '  as  the  hymn  says,  when  he's  unmarried. 
The  young  girls  are  thinkin'  about  it,  and  the  older 
ones  talkin'  about  it;  and  it  does  'em  no  good.  I 
hope  you're  thinkin'  about  this,  Mr.  Dinsmore;  for 
I'm  makin'  it  a  subject  of  prayer." 

The  young  minister  smiled;  it  struck  him  oddly, 
this  motherly  old  woman  with  this  devout  interest  in 
his  matrimonial  affairs. 

"  It  might  be  more  to  the  purpose,  Mrs.  Living- 
ston," he  said,  "  if  you  would  advise  me  what  sort  of 
a  wife  to  get;  or,  better  still,  tell  me  where  she  is  to 
be  found." 

It  was  far  too  serious  a  matter  with  the  old  lady 
for  her  to  appreciate  the  whimsical  side  of  the  mat- 
ter, which  the  young  pastor  could  not  help  seeing. 

"A  good  wife  is  from  the  Lord,"  she  said,  rever- 
ently, "  and  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  must  trust  to 
the  Lord  for  this,  as  for  all  things." 

Dinsmore  knew  of  no  dispensation  of  Providence 
that  touched  this  question;  but  he  did  not  venture 
to  raise  any  such  doubt  in  the  old  lady's  mind. 

"And  yet,  Mrs.  Livingston,"  he  answered,  "  Provi- 
dence requires  us  to  do  our  share,  in  all  concerns  of 
this  life,  at  least;  and  I  need  some  one  to  tell  me 
which  way  the  path  of  duty  lies,  in  this  matter." 

"  I  have  seen  a  deal  of  marryin'  in  my  time,"  said 
the  old  lady,  in  a  dry  tone ;  "  but  never  saw  the  need 
o'  any  outside  help  when  two  young  folks  was  en- 
quirin'  how  they'd  suit  each  other.  They  generally 
find  it  out,  one  way  or  another." 

"But,  in  this  case,"  said  Dinsmore,  "there  is,  un- 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  59 

fortunately,  but  one  person,  and  he  needs  some  one 
to  help  him  find  the  other." 

"  There  are  considerable  many  to  give  him  a  lift  in 
that  direction,  without  his  askin'.  Mebbe  if  you 
was  to  give  it  out  among  the  pulpit  notices,  you 
might  get  all  the  help  you  wanted,  and  more  too," 
said  the  old  lady,  with  twinkling  eyes.  "  I  hev 
myself  heerd  more  than  one  who  felt  awful  sorry  for 
you,  livin'  alone  at  the  hotel ;  and  I  hev  seen  more 
worsted-work  slippers  in  the  past  month  than  was  in 
this  parish  for  forty  year  back ;  and  the  prayer- 
meetin'  is  fuller  of  the  young  girls  than  ever  it  was 
in  the  old  Dominie's  time.  Mebbe  it  don't  signify 
anythin'  special;  but  I  don't  know  as  there's  any 
more  religious  interest  among  the  young  girls  than 
there  was;  mebbe  there  is,  though.  Now  I  don't 
want  to  say  anythin'  upsettin'  to  your  pastoral  work, 
Mr.  Dinsmore;  for  they'd  ha'  done  the  same  by  any 
young  minister  that  come  here.  I  only  want  you  to 
see  that  it  wouldn't  do  no  harm  for  you,  as  minister 
o'  this  church,  to  be  settin'  your  mind  on  this  ques- 
tion. It  does  seem  awful  lonesome  like  for  ye,  too; 
I  don't  wonder  the  girls  feel  it.  You  can't  alius  be 
studyin'  and  writin',  nor  gaddin'  around  every  even- 
in'.  And  there  is  some  things  it  would  do  you  a  sight 
o'  good  to  talk  out;  and  you  dursn't  talk  'em  to  any 
one  in  town.  And  there  is  some  things  a  woman 
can  see  and  tell  her  husband,  even  if  he  is  a  preacher, 
and  there  ain't  no  one  but  his  wife  as  can  tell  him. 
There  is  some  ways  o'  workin',  too,  that  a  minister's 
wife  can  go  into,  that  he  can't  do  himself,  let  alone 
that  he  hasn't  the  time  to  tend  to  them.     There  is 


60  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

ever  so  much  small  work  to  be  done  in  the  world, 
that  don't  signify,  except  where  you  count  it  all  up, 
and  then  it  amounts  to  suthin'.  And  our  folks  has 
a  great  interest  in  a  minister's  wife,  and  thinks  a 
powerful  sight  of  her;  and  she  seems  to  fetch  her 
husband  closer  to  us,  and  make  him  more  interestin', 
except  it  be  to  the  young  girls,  and  they  git  older, 
right  along." 

Here  was  home-spun  truth  for  the  young  parson, 
who  smiled  at  the  quaint  touches  in  the  homily;  but, 
none  the  less,  saw  that  it  was,  at  bottom,  good,  sound 
sense,  well  harrowed  in  and  planted  deep. 

"I'll  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Livingston,"  he  said,  "and 
I  am  sure  it  is  ever  so  kind  of  you  to  take  so  warm 
an  interest  in  me." 

"Well,  if  you  fall  to  thinkin'  on  it,  that  is  all  I 
ask;  for  a  good  man,  if  he  once  puts  his  mind  to  it 
seriously,  can  come  to  only  one  conclusion,  that  the 
Lord  meant  all  men  to  be  married,  especially  minis- 
ters." Then  she  added,  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice, 
"I've  had  experience  of  both  ways,  Mr.  Dinsmore, 
a  happy  married  life,  and  after  that  a  life  all  alone; 
and  I  know  how  the  happiness  of  life  is  more  than 
doubled,  if  you  have  some  one  to  share  it,  and  trouble 
isn't  half  as  heavy  if  there  is  two  backs  to  bear  it." 

Dinsmore  was  touched  by  the  pathos  of  this  little 
outburst  of  sentiment,  and  rose  to  go,  with  a  sincere 
respect  and  regard  for  the  stout  little  old  dame,  who, 
under  such  a  commonplace  exterior,  had  a  heart  so 
full  of  human  tendernesses. 

"Whenever  you  feel  kind  o'  lonely,  and  as  if  you 
would  like  to  see  your  mother,"  she  said,  in  parting, 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  6 1 

"why  don't  you  come  down  here  to  tea  and  let  me 
give  you  a  good  supper,  sech  as  the  hotel  can't  get 
up;  for  there  is  nothin'  like  tasteless  and  onwhole- 
some  vittals  to  give  a  man  homesickness,  especially 
if  he  was  used  to  good  meals  at  home.  And  jest 
fetch  along  your  slippers,  and,  after  supper,  you  and 
my  son  William  can  sit  and  talk  over  your  trout 
fishin',  or  play  a  game  of  chess;  and  we'll  have  some 
nuts  and  apples  and  cider,  and  you  and  William  can 
smoke  a  segar  and  make  yourself  to  home." 

"Thank  you,  heartily,  Mrs.  Livingston;  and  I  will 
surely  fight  off  the  next  attack  of  blues  I  have,  in 
just  that  way,  "said  Dinsmore  feeling  his  heart  warm 
toward  the  motherly  old  dame. 

"Do,  do,"  she  answered;  and  he  left  for  home. 

But  he  began  to  ponder  along  the  way.  It  was 
not  home,  but  only  the  veriest  counterfeit  of  it,  that 
bare  little  room  in  the  country  inn,  with  its  bright 
red,  three-ply  carpet,  its  window  without  curtain  or 
shade,  its  stained  bedstead  with  a  lumpy  husk  mat- 
trass,  underneath  which  the  scant  straw  mattrass 
rustled  as  he  got  in  bed,  and,  through  them  both, 
he  could  count  the  slats  of  the  bedstead.  The 
washstand  and  bureau  were  washed  with  the  same 
stain,  which  was  supposed  to  give  them  the  outward 
seeming  of  mahogany,  but  came  nearer  to  the  color 
of  raw  veal. 

Over  the  bureau  hung  a  looking  glass,  on  a  nail 
driven  into  the  wall,  and  this  was  the  sole  piece  of 
furniture  that  rose  above  the  commonplace.  Some 
twist  or  fold  in  the  glass  caused  it  to  reflect  one  side 
of  the  face  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  lower  than  the 


62  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

other;  and  Dinsmore  found  it  the  most  entertaining 
object  in  his  room. 

For  the  rest,  there  were  two  rush  bottomed  chairs, 
and  his  own  study  table  and  easy  chair  from  home, 
looking  sadly  out  of  place  and  lonely  among  their 
incongruous  companions.  His  book-shelves  had 
been  made  by  Tim  Mitchell,  the  undertaker  and 
cabinet  maker;  and,  thereby,  he  found  that  Tim  had 
come  to  regard  him  as,  in  some  sort,  a  partner  in 
business,  and  bound  to  give  Tim  the  entrie  to  the 
houses  of  his  parishioners  when  there  arose  the  sad 
occasion  for  their  joint  services  in  the  house  of 
mourning.  For  there  was  a  rival  undertaker  in 
town,  who  was  a  wheelwright  by  trade,  and  Tim  re- 
garded him  as  an  interloper  and  entitled  to  no  con- 
sideration ;  and  offered  Dinsmore  the  courtesy  of  a 
seat  beside  himself  on  the  hearse,  either  going  to  or 
coming  from  funerals  in  which  they  might  be  jointly 
interested. 

But,  to-night,  Dinsmore  was  not  thinking  of  the 
little  undertaker  who  dropped  his  "  h"s,  in  true  cock- 
ney style,  and  wore  his  long  crape  weepers  with  such 
pride;  for  his  mind  was  full  of  the  home  question. 
He  came  to  his  room;  it  was  dark  and  cold.  He  lit 
his  student-lamp,  and  the  fire;  but  they  did  not,  at 
once,  dispel  the  chill.  No,  it  was  not  a  home;  it 
was  not  cheerful,  encouraging,  helpful,  inspiriting, 
it  was  the  reverse  of  all  this;  and,  as  the  room  began 
to  warm  up,  and  it  grew  a  trifle  less  gloomy  in  its 
aspect,  what  wonder  if  the  "young  man's  fancies 
turned  to  thoughts"  of  some  one  to  love? 

He  sat  by  the  fire  and  drew  pictures,  castles  in  the 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  63 

air,  with  cosey  home  surroundings,  and  comfort  in 
every  nook  and  cranny;  but  with  whom?  Ah!  there 
was  the  rub.  And  yet  there  was  a  face  and  form 
that  dwelt  in  that  home.  Therefore  we  may  con- 
clude that  Dame  Livingston's  seed  had  not  fallen  on 
the  wayside,  beaten  hard  by  the  tread  of  many  feet, 
nor  yet  on  the  stony  ground  where  there  was  no 
deepness  of  earth. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

DURING  the  following  winter  Dinsmore  deter- 
mined to  realize  some  of  his  purposes  regard- 
ing the  people  at  large;  and  with  this  in  view,  or- 
ganized a  reading  class  among  the  young  ladies  of 
the  village,  which  met  at  the  Judge's  house  in  the 
afternoon;  and  a  debating  society  for  the  young 
men,  that  met  over  young  Livingston's  store,  in  the 
evening.  In  the  latter  effort  he  did  not  meet  with  a 
very  gratifying  success.  It  was  his  plan  to  enlist 
their  interest  in  living  questions,  and  not  to  cultivate 
the  art  of  uttering  with  facility  dreary  platitudes  on 
well-worn  themes.  This  he  endeavored  to  impress 
upon  them  in  a  preliminary  talk  with  a  few  of  them, 
who  were  invited  to  dine  with  him  and  discuss  the 
matter. 

With  this  end  in  view,  and  also  in  order  to  break 
the  ice,  which  he  was  aware  formed  quickly  on  all 
these  gatherings  which  were  not  in  the  nature  of  a 
frolic,  he  proposed  that,  at  the  first  session  of  their 
society,  which  they  decided  to  call  the  Clintonville 
Literary  Circle,  he  should  give  them  a  talk  on  some 
theme  which  they  themselves  should  select. 

Fred  Hutton  was  foremost  in  the  scheme,  lively, 
self-confident,  and  not  averse  to  assuming  the  re- 
sponsibility of  leader.     Fred  was  not  stupid,  but  he 

64 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  65 

was  venturesome  to  a  degree  that  often  landed  him 
in  a  position  where  he  appeared  stupid  enough  to 
all  eyes  save  his  own.  He  affected  literature.  It 
was  only  the  Sunday  previous  that  Dinsmore,  as  he 
passed  through  the  sitting-room  of  the  Hotel,  had 
noticed  Fred  close  and  cover  quickly  with  his  hand, 
a  book  which  he  presumed  the  young  parson  would 
not  have  commended  for  Sunday  reading.  The  yel- 
low cover  protruded  in  tell-tale  fashion  from  under 
his  hands,  and  to  Dinsmore's  query  as  to  what  he 
was  reading,  Fred's  apt  response  was,  "The  life  of 
a  minister."  It  was  the  first  volume  of  "  Les  Mis- 
erables." 

Fred  was  made  chairman  of  the  committee  to  se- 
lect a  theme  for  this  opening  talk. 

What  was  Dinsmore's  horror,  when,  three  days 
later,  he  received,  in  Fred's  clerkly  hand,  the  follow- 
ing as  the  result  of  their  incubation. 

"Dear  Sir: 

We  have  selected  as  a  subject  which  will  be  both 
attractive  and  useful  to  us  all,  for  your  inaugural 
address  at  the  opening  of  the  Clintonville  Literary 
Circle, 

'The  causes  of  corrupted  morals  and  the  impedi- 
ments to  social  fruitions  or  enjoyments. ' 

Yours  respectfully, 
F.   Hutton,  Chairman 
of  special  com. Clintonville  Lit.  Circle." 

Dinsmore  groaned  inly  and  made  a  wry  face  over 
the  marvellous  conglomeration  of  words,  and  won- 
5 


66  A    HILLSIDE   PARISH. 

dered  by  what  process  of  invention  a  parcel  of  young 
men  lighted  on  such  a  theme,  and  determined  that, 
for  the  future,  the  selection  of  subjects  for  discussion 
had  better  remain  in  his  own  hands.  He  made  up 
his  mind  to  talk  to  them  on  the  subject  of  mental 
culture  as  a  means  of  pleasure  and  profit,  and  to  take 
as  his  theme  Leighton's  pregnant  caption  quoted  in 
the  Aids  to  Reflection ;  "Your  blessedness  is  not, — 
no,  believe  it,  it  is  not  where  most  of  you  seek  it,  in 
things  below  you.  How  can  that  be?  It  must  be  a 
higher  good  to  make  you  happy."  With  Coleridge's 
comment,  "All  lower  natures  find  their  highest  good 
in  semblances  and  seekings  of  that  which  is  higher 
and  better.  All  things  strive  to  ascend,  and  ascend 
in  their  striving." 

It  was  a  plea  for  thoughtful  reading  as  a  means  of 
culture,  for  the  attitude  of  mind  that  dwells  with 
truth ;  and  the  text  of  his  discourse  was  "  Attention 
fixes  the  mind  upon  truth.  Reflection  fixes  truth  in 
the  mind." 

He  mingled  plenty  of  illustration  and  some  anec- 
dote with  his  talk,  but  while  they  looked  on  him  with 
their  eyes  and  heard  him  with  their  ears,  he  had  not 
any  strong  hope  that  even  the  ghost  of  his  meaning 
penetrated  past  the  gate  of  the  senses.  Fred  was, 
perhaps,  the  best  read  young  man  there,  the  most 
wide-awake,  with  the  largest  horizon  of  life;  and  as 
a  result  of  the  young  pastor's  talk,  suggested  that 
the  subject  of  their  first  debate  should  be,  "  Is  reflec- 
tion an  aid  to  thinking,  or  thinking  an  aid  to  reflec- 
tion?"; without  declaring  any  preference  as  to  the 
side  that  he  would  take  in  the  debate. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  67 

Dinsmore  was  too  much  dismayed  to  do  more  than 
negative  this,  and  promise  that  he  would  read  them 
some  selections  from  various  authors  at  their  next 
meeting,  and  then  announce  a  subject  of  debate  for 
the  ensuing  week. 

He  was  thoroughly  disheartened,  however,  and  felt 
that  he  had  before  him  a  task  requiring  the  same  sort 
of  faith  that  would  move  mountains;  for  not  one  of 
the  hearty,  healthy  young  fellows  about  him  had 
done  more  than  sit  in  open-eyed  wonder,  save  only  the 
frisky  young  clerk. 

With  his  young  ladies  class  in  literature  on  the  fol- 
lowing afternoon,  his  success  was  more  encouraging. 
Miss  Amelia  Ann  was  there,  vivacious  and  full  of 
suggestion.  She  had  a  host  of  favorite  authors,  and 
was  ready  in  quotation  of  her  pet  passages  in  prose 
and  poetry.  The  meeting  was  held  in  the  parlor  of 
the  Judge's  house,  and  Mary  Lowther,  the  Judge's 
daughter,  was  a  very  well  read  and  highly  cultivated 
girl.  She  had  been  to  a  New  England  school,  and 
had  spent  her  school  days  in  thorough,  hard  study. 
She  was  no  book-worm,  but  a  genuine,  sincere,  and 
very  intelligent  girl,  full  of  life  and  spirits.  She  was 
rather  under  than  above  the  medium  height,  brown 
as  a  gypsy,  with  ruddy  cheeks,  dark  hair,  and  with 
eyebrows,  not  delicately  pencilled,  but  bushy  and 
black.  Her  teeth,  which  were  white  and  regular, 
seemed  whiter  by  contrast  with  her  dark  coloring, 
and  she  showed  them  freely  when  she  laughed,  which 
she  did  very  often,  with  a  ring  in  her  voice,  made 
more  contagious  by  her  sparkling  eyes.  At  first 
Dinsmore  did  not  think  her  pretty  at  all;  then,  after 


68  A   HILLSIDE   PARISH. 

talking  with  her,  he  thought  her  very  pretty;  and,  as 
he  came  to  know  her  better,  he  never  thought  of  her 
looks  at  all. 

But  he  recognized  in  her,  very  soon,  one  who 
would  be  an  effective  helper  in  all  his  plans  to  bring 
into  the  circle  of  the  village  girls  something  of  the 
higher  life  that  is  gained  by  the  knowledge  and  love 
of  good  books.  Her  taste  was  refined,  cultivated 
and  genuine.  She  formed  her  own  opinions,  and 
was  enthusiastic  in  her  love  of  both  good  literature 
and  good  music. 

They  were  partners  from  the  very  first  meeting. 
It  was  at  her  suggestion  that  the  young  ladies  class 
in  literature  was  formed  without  any  name  at  all. 
That  it  should  not  become  a  mere  desultory  reading, 
at  the  mercy  of  this  or  that  one's  whim,  she  suggested 
that  Dinsmore  should  read  to  them  passages  of  his 
own  selection,  prose  or  poetry,  while  the  ladies 
brought  their  work,  and,  after  the  reading,  he  should 
comment  on  the  passages  read,  telling  them  some- 
thing of  the  authors,  and  they  should  ask  him  ques- 
tions or  make  their  comments.  This  plan  worked 
admirably  to  relieve  these  meetings  of  the  stiffness 
and  terror  attendant  on  the  sessions  of  a  society. 
The  burden  lay  on  the  young  pastor  to  supply  the 
entertainment  and  direct  the  train  of  study;  but  in 
all  this  Mary  Lowther  was  an  effective  aid. 

Miss  Amelie  Ann  Hollis  was  the  only  one  of  the 
circle  who  did  not  heartily  approve  of  this  plan.  She 
had  some  essays  and  poems,  a  few  of  the  latter  hav- 
ing occupied  a  corner  in  the  county  paper.  These 
fugitive  verses  she  had  purposed  to  read;  but  alas! 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  69 

Coleridge  and  Keats  and  Wordsworth  had  supplanted 
her. 

Once  she  made  an  ineffectual  effort  to  stem  the 
tide.  The  afternoon's  reading  had  been  devoted  to 
"  Dreams."  Dinsmore  had  read  Leigh  Hunt's  essay 
on  Dreams,  and  then  some  examples  of  the  dreams 
of  the  poets  and  prose  writers. 

After  the  reading,  when  various  questions  had  been 
mooted,  IMiss  Amelie  observed 

"  My  father  always  forbid  us  children  telling  our 
dreams;  he  said  it  was  both  tiresome  and  foolish." 

"I've  no  doubt  he  was  right,"  said  Sally  Hill,  the 
village  belle,  who  was  pretty  and  pert,  with  her  pink 
cheeks  and  saucy  lips,  and  as  full  of  life  as  a  kitten; 
and  to  whom  the  "Ancient  pride  of  the  village,"  as 
she  called  Miss  Amelie,  was  as  the  ball  of  yarn  to 
the  kitten,  something  to  be  tangled. 

"  I  was  not  seeking  your  opinion,  Sally,"  said  Miss 
Amelie,  with  some  asperity.  "  We  do  not  have  to 
ask  for  that.  It  comes  unasked,  and,  like  all  un- 
sought blessings,  perhaps  is  not  appreciated  as  highly 
as  it  deserves." 

"  It  is  like  the  rain  that  comes  on  the  just  and  the 
unjust  alike;  Eh,  Mealy?"  said  Sally,  with  a  wink 
at  her  neighbor. 

Miss  Amelie  turned,  with  dignity,  from  this  fruit- 
less controversy. 

"  I  meant  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Dinsmore,  whether  you 
thought  it  was  as  profitable  to  read  the  dreams  of 
men,  as  their  more  earnest  thoughts;  and  whether 
reading  will  cultivate  one  as  much  as  to  write  our- 
selves?" 


70  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Sally  Hill  giggled  aloud.  "  I  have  torn  up  all  my 
compositions,  but  I  suppose  I  could  write  them  over 
again,"  she  whispered,  loud  enough  for  Amelie  to 
hear.     "  My  verses  are  still  unwritten." 

Mary  Lowther  interposed  with  the  suggestion, 

"  For  this  season  it  might  be  better  for  us  to  read, 
and  after  we  are  more  used  to  discussion  of  literary 
matters,  we  might,  next  winter,  try  our  hand  at  some 
simple  essay  or  impression  of  what  we  felt  and  thought 
about  the  pieces  we  had  read." 

She  said  it  brightly  and  pleasantly,  as  though  en- 
tering into  Amelie's  plan,  and  postponing  it  only  so 
as  to  ensure  its  success.  But  there  was  a  finality  in 
her  tone  that  displeased  Amelie,  who  had  so  little 
distrust  of  her  own  powers,  that  she  had  already  a 
half  written  essay  on  the  "  Genius  of  Keats." 

Dinsmore  began  to  feel  the  torments  of  arousing 
an  inertia  of  motion  leading  he  knew  not  whither, 
and  thanked  Mary  Lowther,  with  all  his  heart,  for 
extricating  him  so  deftly,  and  conveyed  his  thanks 
by  a  look  of  relief  so  genuine  that  it  made  her  eyes 
twinkle  though  she  had  to  smother  the  laughter  that 
it  was  a  pain  to  suppress. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  can  give  a  better  opinion  after 
we  have  heard  all  parties,  Mr.  Dinsmore?"  she  said, 
so  as  to  draw  his  answer  out  to  her,  and  save  him  a 
direct  reply  to  Amelie. 

"  I  do  indeed,"  he  said.  "  I  think  it  no  easy  task 
to  see  the  beauties  of  an  author,  and  a  still  harder 
one,  so  to  point  them  out  that  another  shall  see  as 
you  see,"  he  answered,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "I 
think,  too,  that,  if  we  freely  talk  out  our  impressions 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  71 

here,  and  compare  views,  we  shall  learn  both  to  form 
and  express  our  opinions.  Which  of  the  poems  that 
I  read  this  afternoon  appeals  to  you  most  strongly, 
Miss  Amelie  ?"  he  said  deferentially. 

"  I  think  Byron's  Dream  is  divine,"  she  answered, 
half  closing  her  eyes,  with  her  lips  slightly  drawn, 
and  a  pinched  expression  about  her  nostrils. 

"Did  you  feel  any  interest  in  Kubla  Khan?"  he 
said,  perplexed. 

"I  felt  that  it  was  ragged,"  she  answered;  "it 
lacked  finish  and  fulness." 

Dinsmore  felt  that  so  far  as  literature  was  con- 
cerned, here  was  mission  ground,  and  whether  the 
inertia  of  rest  evinced  by  his  class  of  young  men,  or 
the  inertia  of  motion  as  illustrated  by  Fred  and  Miss 
Amelie  were  the  more  unpromising  field,  he  was  at  a 
loss  to  say.  Just  now,  he  felt  the  latter  to  be  the 
more  trying. 

But  this  was,  after  all,  the  lighter  side  of  his  pas- 
toral duty,  however  he  might  fail  or  succeed  in 
arousing  their  love  of  literature,  his  true  work 
touched  deeper  problems  than  this.  At  the  lower 
end  of  the  village,  near  the  Judge's  house,  lived 
Bill  Bennett,  the  black-smith,  and,  on  his  way  home 
from  the  Judge's  that  afternoon,  Dinsmore  encoun- 
tered the  sturdy  smith,  under  rather  exciting  cir- 
cumstances. He  had,  more  than  once,  stopped  to 
have  a  talk  with  Bill,  at  his  forge,  and  had  stood  in 
admiration  of  the  stalwart,  swarthy  fellow,  as  he 
watched  him  swing  the  heavy  sledge  and  let  it  fall 
with  a  resounding  blow  that  made  the  anvil  ring  and 
the  sparks  fly,  or  bring  it  down  so  gently  that  you 


72  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

hardly  heard  it  fall.  His  admiration  was  heightened 
by  an  attempt  which  he  himself  had  made  to  wield 
the  heavy  sledge ;  the  sturdy  smith  standing  by  the 
meanwhile,  with  a  lurking  smile  on  his  lips,  and  the 
brief  comment,  "  You  may  be  death  on  theology, 
parson,  but  you  ain't  worth  your  salt  at  the  anvil." 

Bennett  was  not  in  his  shop,  but  as  Henry  passed 
the  house  he  heard  the  piercing  scream  of  a  woman's 
voice  and  was  horror-stricken  to  see  the  smith,  with 
his  black  eyes,  gleaming,  like  his  forge  fire,  mad  with 
drink,  literally  dragging  his  wife,  by  her  hair  around 
the  corner  of  the  house;  she  screaming  "  Murder!" 
It  made  him  sick  to  see  it  and,  as  he  hurried  to  her 
assistance,  Bennett  let  go  his  hold  of  her,  and  stalked 
into  the  house. 

Dinsmore  hastened  to  the  terror-stricken  woman 
and,  at  her  entreaty,  helped  her  to  her  sister's  house, 
over  the  way. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Mrs.  Bennett?"  he  asked, 
when  she  was  somewhat  recovered  from  her  hysteri- 
cal fright.  "  Its  all  for  nothin'  at  all  but  the  liquor 
that's  in  him"  she  sobbed. 

"  Does  he  often  treat  you  so?"  he  asked. 

"Well  no,  not  very  often;  but  he's  ornery  to-day," 
she  sobbed. 

"  Have  you  done  anything  to  provoke  him  espe- 
cially," he  asked;  feeling  that  some  unusual  provo- 
cation must  have  called  forth  such  brutal  conduct. 

"Well  no!  I  can't  say  as  there  was.  You  might 
ask  him,"  she  answered. 

After  much  persuasion,  she  and  her  sister  agreed 
to  go  back  to  the  house  under  Dinsmore's  protection 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  73 

and  send  for  Bennett,  telling  him  that  the  pastor  had 
called  to  see  him. 

After  all,  this  quiet  parish  had  its  quota  of  trage- 
dies, as  well  as  the  great  world  outside. 

Over  the  way  marched  the  small  procession,  the 
two  frightened  women  and  the  young  pastor,  whose 
pulse  beat  several  degrees  higher  than  the  normal 
rate. 

Without  venturing  beyond  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
Mrs.  Bennett  called  to  her  husband  "  The  Dominie's 
here  Bill,  and  wants  to  see  you." 

"Tell  him  I'll  be  down,  when  I've  brushed  up 
a  bit,"  he  answered,  fiercely  enough  to  show  that 
his  anger  still  burned  hot.  It  was  with  many  an 
uncomfortable  qualm  that  Dinsmore  awaited  his 
coming. 

Presently  he  came  down  the  stairs,  with  a  firm 
step,  for  he  was  one  of  those  drunkards  who  did  not 
reel,  but  grew  mad  with  drink.  He  had  dressed 
himself  with  scrupulous  care,  his  shirt  which  was 
without  starched  bosom,  was  clean  and  white,  un- 
buttoned and  rolled  back  at  the  neck,  showing  the 
strong  muscles  of  his  chest;  the  sleeves  were  rolled 
up  to  the  elbow  and  the  brown,  brawny  arms  showed 
sinews  like  steel  and  muscles  hard  as  iron.  His  eye 
gleamed  fiercely  as  he  entered  the  room  with  a  swift, 
stern  stride,  and  walking  straight  up  to  Dinsmore, 
held  his  clenched  fist  close  under  his  nose,  and  said 
"  Parson,  do  you  know  that  one  tap  o'  that  would 
send  you  to  heaven;  shortcut."  It  was  a  somewhat 
thrilling  experience. 

"  If   it    is   a    question   of   fighting,    Mr.    Bennett, 


74  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

please  let  me  have  a  chance  to  run ;  for  you  can 
knock  me  senseless,  before  I  could  think"  said  Dins- 
more.  "I  came  here  to  talk  to  you;  I  can't  fight 
you.  Won't  you  sit  down  and  let  us  talk  this  mat- 
ter over,"  and  he  moved  to  make  room  for  Bennett, 
on  the  sofa. 

Bennett  glared  at  him  a  moment  and  then,  bring- 
ing a  chair,  seated  himself,  directly  in  front  of  Dins- 
more,  with  their  knees  almost  touching,  set  his  arm 
on  his  knee,  his  chin  in  one  hand,  and  glared  at  the 
young  minister,  at  short  range. 

"Now  blaze  away,  Dominie,"  he  said,  "What  hev 
ye  got  to  say  to  me;  this  business  is  of  your  own 
seekin." 

"  Yes.  I  have  this  to  say  Mr.  Bennett,"  said  Dins- 
more,  looking  him  full  in  the  eye,  "  that  it  is  a 
shameful,  brutal,  cowardly  thing  for  a  strong  man 
to  treat  a  weak  woman,  as  I  saw  you  treat  your 
wife;  and  I  would  not  have  believed  it  of  you,  if  I 
had  not  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes." 

"Them  is  rather  stout  words,  parson,"  answered 
Bennett  "  and  I  wonder  whether  you  are  altogether 
prepared  to  stand  to  'em;  Eh?"  and  he  glared  on 
Dinsmore. 

'I  am  prepared  to  stand  to  them, "  answered  Dins- 
more;  "and  further  to  say  that  there  is  no  excuse 
for  such  unmanly  conduct." 

"You  may  be  wadin'  in  deeper  than  you  know  of, 
parson,"  retorted  Bennett,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  Sup- 
pose we  discuss  the  question  a  bit,  parson." 

"  I  am  not  ready  to  discuss  such  a  question.  The 
man  is  a  coward  and  brute  who  treats   his  wife  so 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  75 

shamefully,  the  girl  he  courted  and  married  and 
promised  to  love  and  care  for,"  answered  Dinsmore, 
hotly. 

"  Well,  leavin'  aside  this  pint  on  which  your  mind 
seems  to  be  so  well  sot,  parson ;  hev  ye  any  objec- 
tion to  discuss  the  question  as  to  what  led  to  the 
unfortunate  circumstances  that  seem  to  rile  ye  so," 
answered  Bennett.  "  Would  you  be  willing  to  an- 
swer me  a  question  or  two." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dinsmore  "  I  am  ready  to  hear 
what  you  have  to  say." 

Bennett  paused,  and  the  two  sat  looking  one  an- 
other full  in  the  eye.  There  was  a  triumphant 
gleam  in  Bennett's  eye  and  a  self-confident  smile  on 
his  lips,  as  he  lifted  his  chin  from  his  hand,  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  and  said 

"  What  is  the  fifth  Commandment  ?" 

Henry  was  so  astonished  at  such  a  question,  that 
for  a  moment  he  could  not  summon  the  familiar 
words.  Bennett  smiled,  as  though  this  was  a  point 
scored  in  his  favor,  and,  before  the  young  minister 
had  a  chance  to  collect  his  scattered  wits,  recited 
"  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother  that  thy  days 
may  be  long  in  the  land  that  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth 
thee "  then  winked  triumphantly  at  Dinsmore  and 
said,  "That's  the  tune,  parson,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes"  gasped  Dinsmore  "that's  right." 

"  I  thought  there  couldn't  be  no  dispute  between 
us  on  that  pint"  retorted  Bennett;  while  the  two 
women  sat  aghast  to  see  the  parson  thus  beaten,  on 
his  own  ground,  by  Bill. 

"But  what  has  that  to  do  with  this  miserable  bus- 


76  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

iness,  Mr.  Bennett "  said  Dinsmore,  essaying  to  as- 
sert himself,  after  this  downfall. 

"It  has  got  a  blamed  sight  more; — if  you'll  excuse 
the  word  parson,  I'll  stick  to  it — its  got  a  blamed 
sight  more,  I  say,  to  do  with  this  business  than  you 
know  for;  and  I'll  just  let  you  into  that,  if  you'll 
give  me  the  chance  to  be  heard." 

"  Now  he's  goin'  to  tell  a  pack  of  lies  on  me," 
whined  Mrs.  Bennett,  from  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  Shut  up,"  roared  Bennett;  "the  parson  and  me 
ain't  goin'  to  stand  no  woman's  clack  in  this  here 
business;  and  if  you  don't  hold  yer  jaw,  I'll  hold  it 
for  you;  do  you  mind  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Bennett  I  think  you  had  better  let  Mr. 
Bennett  and  me  talk  this  matter  over  alone  "said 
Dinsmore,  firmly. 

"Right  you  are  parson,  women  don't  understand 
these  pints  o'  theology.  Now  I'll  drive  ahead. 
Bein'  agreed  on  the  fifth  commandment,  we're  not 
agoin'  to  quarrel  on  small  pints.  I  hev'  a  boy  named 
Bill,  and  when  he  come  o'  eighteen  years  he  was 
hankering  for  a  silver  watch  that  I  had  alius  carried. 
I  told  him,  when  he  was  twenty-one,  it  was  to  be  his; 
in  the  meantime  I  would  lend  it  to  him. 

"  Well  I  lent  it  to  him,  about  two  weeks  ago,  and, 
about  three  days  after  he  had  it,  I  found  he  warn't 
carryin'  it,  and  asked  him  what  was  gone  with  it; 
and  he  told  me  he  had  lent  it  to  one  o'  his  chums, 
and  later  on  said  he'd  spouted  it  for  two  dollars; 
and,  every  time  I  asked  him  about  it,  he  had  a  new 
story  to  tell ;  and,  when  I  found  out  that  he  was 
givin'  me  a  pack  o'  lies,  I  told  him  he  could  leave  the 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  77 

house,  and  not  come  back  until  he  brought  me  that 
watch.  Well,  after  I  had  chased  him  out  and  told 
that  woman,"  with  a  scornful  emphasis  on  the  word, 
and  a  contemptuous  jerk  of  his  thumb  over  the  shoul- 
der toward  his  wife,  "  that  miserable  woman,  that 
had  promised  to  love,  honor  and  obey  me,  jest  the 
whys  and  wherefores o'  the  hull  business:  what  does 
she  do  but  feed  the  cub,  three  meals  a  day  regular, 
when  I  was  down  to  the  shop  to  work;  and  give  him 
the  money  for  his  night's  lodging  into  the  bargain, 
jest  to  encourage  him  in  stealin',  lyin'  and  disobe- 
dience; and,  when  I  told  her  to  take  herself  off 
along  with  her  cub,  she  up  and  told  me  that  I  could 
clear  out  myself.  Now  what  I  want  to  put  to  you 
parson  is;  hadn't  I  the  right  to  demand  that  watch 
back  ?" 

"  Most  certainly  you  had,  Mr.  Bennett  "  answered 
Dinsmore. 

"Right  you  are  parson.  Secondly  hadn't  I  the 
right  to  say  to  that  boy,  you  shan't  come  to  this 
house  unless  you  bring  me  that  watch?" 

"  If  you  chose  to  take  such  harsh  measures,  you 
doubtless  had  the  right  to  do  so;"  answered  Dins- 
more,  with  some  hesitation. 

"  Well,  I  did  choose  to ;  and  so  that  pint  is  settled  " 
answered  Bennett.  "Then  thirdly,  had  my  wife  any 
right  to  uphold  that  boy  in  his  disobedience?"  and 
his  eye  gleamed  with  satisfaction. 

"  No,  she  had  not "  said  Dinsmore  firmly. 

"  Well,  that  settles  the  case  "  said  Bennett  grimly, 
as  he  rose  to  his  feet  "  and  I  congratulate  you,  par- 
son, on  the  level  head  you  keep  on  your  shoulders." 


78  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"No;  I  don't  think  that  it  does  settle  the  case. 
I  have  two  or  three  questions  to  ask  you  Mr.  Bennett, 
if  you  will  sit  down  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  Certainly,  parson ;  with  the  greatest  of  pleasure  " 
answered  the  blacksmith,  and,  with  an  elaborate  bow, 
he  took  his  seat.  "  It  is  a  real  pleasure  to  talk  with 
a  gentleman  who  has  sech  a  clear  head  to  see  a  pint, 
when  shown  him  and  an  honest  tongue  to  own  when 
he's  beaten." 

Dinsmore  looked  him  quietly  in  the  eye,  for  a 
moment. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  come  to  know  you  better  this 
evening,  than  in  all  the  months  I  have  been  here, 
Mr.  Bennett;  and  there  is  the  making  of  a  man  in 
you,"  said  Dinsmore,  cordially;  for  his  heart  yearned 
toward  this  poor  mortal  in  the  toils  of  the  demon's 
net. 

It  was  Bennett's  turn  to  be  startled  now.  He 
had  braced  himself  for  an  assault;  but  not  on  this 
side. 

The  women  too  were  aghast  at  the  turn  things 
were  taking,  and  felt  that  their  champion  was  be- 
traying their  cause.  After  a  minute's  silence,  which 
seemed  ten,  when  it  had  become  almost  painful, 
Dinsmore  continued  "  I  want  you  to  come  to  church, 
Mr.  Bennett." 

"  By  G "  began  the  smith. 

"  Hush  "  said  Dinsmore  raising  his  hand. 

"Well,  parson,  I  must  put  sommat  to  it.  Be 
hanged  if  I  don't.  I  will,  so  help  me  God,  I  will 
be  there  next  Sunday, "  and  his  voice  began  to  quiver, 
with    maudlin    sentiment.       "  I    want    to   hear   you 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  79 

preach,  parson.  I  love  you,  I  do.  I'd  like  to  be 
converted  by  you,  parson." 

"There!  that  will  do"  said  Dinsmore.  "I  must 
go  home  to  supper.  Your  wife  will  not  fear  to  stay 
with  you  to-night.  You  will  for  my  sake  promise  to 
treat  her  kindly.  I  will  see  your  son  to-morrow,  and 
will  talk  over  this  with  you,  when  you  are  feeling  all 
right.  You  will  promise  me  to  do  nothing  more 
about  it;  until  you  and  I  have  talked  it  over"  and 
Dinsmore  held  out  his  hand,  with  a  genial  smile,  to 
the  poor  fellow.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  Ben- 
nett took  it  and  gripped  it  until  the  blood  flew  into 
Dinsmore's  face  and  said,  almost  sobbing 

"  I  will,  so  help  me  God.  You've  downed  me  par- 
son, you  have;  and  jest  when  I  was  sure  I  had  the 
better  o'  ye.  I  don't  see  how  you  got  the  under 
holt;  but  I'm  downed.  I  am"  and  he  dropped  into 
the  chair  and  bowed  his  head  on  his  hands  and 
sobbed. 

How  it  touched  Dinsmore.  The  tears  came  to  his 
eyes. 

"We  are  friends,  Mr.  Bennett,"  he  said  "firm 
friends,  from  this  day  forth,  and,  so  help  me  God,  I 
mean  that  you  shall  be  such  a  man  as  nobody  can 
down."  Turning  to  Mrs.  Bennett,  he  said  "I  think 
it  would  be  better  for  you  to  say  nothing  more  of 
this,  Mrs.  Bennett,  until  your  husband  and  I  have 
had  a  chance  to  talk  it  over." 

And  so  he  left  them.  That  night  he  was  wakened 
by  the  sound  of  a  man's  voice  under  his  window 
which  fronted  on  the  village  green.  There  on  the 
fence  sat  Bennett,  muttering  curses  at  "  the  snivel- 


So  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

ling,  little  parson  that  stuck  his  nose  in  other  people's 
affairs.  And  he  thought  he  downed  me,  he  did; 
when  I  could  ha'  knocked  him  to  kingdom  come,  if 
I'd  a  mind  to.  I'll  do  it,  next  time;  and  he  won't 
go  off  crowin'  over  Bill  Bennett;"  and  he  wound  up 
with  a  curse  full-mouthed  and  deep. 

The  next  day,  Henry  met  him  on  the  street,  and, 
as  the  young  minister  came  near,  Bennett  drew  back 
off  the  narrow  side-walk  and  stood  with  his  back 
close  against  the  high-board  fence,  with  his  hand  to 
his  hat  in  military  salute  and  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
every  feature  rigid.  Henry  lifted  his  hat,  gravely, 
and  passed  on. 

On  the  following  day,  as  he  passed  the  shop  the 
furnace  was  in  full  blast,  and  the  anvil  rang  to  the 
swift  swinging  blows,  which  the  young  minister  was 
glad  to  hear.  As  he  was  making  up  his  mind  whether 
or  no  the  iron  was  hot  for  him  to  strike,  Bennett 
came  to  the  door,  and,  with  an  evident  effort,  said 

"  Parson  I  have  a  word  for  you." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Bennett  "said  Dinsmore,  cheerily, 
"there's  not  a  man  in  the  village  I  want  to  hear 
from  as  much  as  you." 

"Parson,"  said  the  smith  solemnly,  "I  want  to 
explain  to  you,  that  I  am  obliged,  sometimes,  for  a 
weakness  of  my  innards  to  take  a  little  quinine  and, 
to  make  the  quinine  go  to  the  spot,  I  am  obliged  to 
use  a  little  whiskey.  Well,  between  'em,  they  have 
a  curious  effect  on  me,  and  they  set  me  to  thinkin', 
and  sometimes  to  sayin',  exactly  the  contrary  o' 
what  I  really  think  and  feel;  and,  most  times,  this 
comes  on  me  late  at  night.     That's  all  parson." 


A    HILLSIDE   PARISH.  8 1 

Henry  put  out  his  hand  to  him  and,  while  he  held 
the  great  brawny  fist  in  his,  said 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Bennett.  I  think  we  un- 
derstand one  another,  perfectly;  and  we  are  going 
to  be  firm  friends  after  this,  and  I  am  going  to  see 
you  at  church  every  Sunday." 

"  Right  you  are  parson,  so  help  me  God  "  said  the 
smith,  returning  the  firm  clasp  of  his  hand;  "and 
bygones  is  bygones." 

"Not  only  between  us;  but  between  you  and  the 
whiskey  bottle  too,  Mr.  Bennett "  said  Dinsmore, 
pressing  his  advantage. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  sign  a  pledge  parson  ?"  said 
Bennett,  doubtfully. 

"No,  I  do  not,  Mr.  Bennett, "  answered  Dinsmore. 
"  I  want  you  to  be  man  enough  to  see  the  evil  of  the 
thing,  and  to  feel  how  it  debases  you,  and  make  up 
your  mind  that,  by  God's  grace  helping  you,  it  shall 
not  pass  your  lips.  This  is  a  better  way  than  sign- 
ing a  pledge.  Weaker  men  may  need  the  force  of  a 
pledge;  but  you  have  brains  and  conscience  enough 
not  to  need  such  help.  God  and  your  own  brave 
spirit  will  pull  you  through." 

"  Parson  it  does  hearten  me  to  hear  you  talk  like 
that.      Do  you  think  I  can,"  he  said  humbly. 

"  I  know  you  can,  and  will  do  it"  said  Dinsmore, 
brightly. 

"  Hanged  if  I  don't  come  and  hear  you  preach,  if 
you  can  talk  like  this  "  answered  the  smith. 

And,  sure  enough,  from  this  time  forth  Bill  Ben- 
nett was  at  the  head  of  his  pew,  and  every  day  the 
ring  of  his  anvil,  as  Henry  went  by,  was  like  music 
6 


82  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

in  the  young  pastor's  ears;  and,  when  other  plans 
and  projects  came  to  grief,  it  made  his  heart  glad  to 
go  into  the  smithy  and  have  a  chat  with  Bill. 

He  made  it  his  business  to  seek  out  the  wayward 
boy,  release  the  silver  watch  from  pawn,  and  secure 
its  restoration  to  the  father,  and,  on  the  evening  of 
that  day,  went  to  supper  at  the  Bennett's. 

"  It's  not  for  the  like  o'  us  to  have  the  minister  to 
supper  "  said  Bill,  when  Henry  proposed  to  take  a 
meal  with  them. 

"If  I'm  good  enough  to  preach  to  you,  I  should 
think  you  might  let  me  eat  at  your  table, "  said  Dins- 
more,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh  Lord!  parson  that's  not  the  way  I  meant  it " 
said  Bennett,  in  dismay. 

"Yes"  answered  Dinsmore  "but  that's  the  way  I 
shall  take  it,  unless  you  ask  me  to  supper." 

"  Well  then,  for  gracious  sake,  come  to  supper  to- 
morrow night"  said  Bennett. 

"  It  was  the  proudest  day  of  my  life  "  said  Bill  to 
his  customers  of  the  next  and  many  ensuing  days, 
"when  I  hed  the  parson  to  supper.  My!  didn't  he 
eat,  and  said  the  things  was  good;  and  didn't  he 
make  himself  to  home  and  talk  right  in  with  us." 

From  that  day  customers  were  regaled  with  bits 
of  Dinsmore's  table-talk  or  scraps  from  his  sermons, 
so  that  he  got  the  nick-name  of  the  "  parson's  Billy," 
and  the  scoffers  called  his  shop  "  The  Bethel  Black- 
smith's shop."  It  was  well  that  their  jokes  were 
turned  on  him  and  not  on  the  minister;  for  Bill 
would  have  sealed  his  testimony  to  the  parson  with 
the  blood  of  those  who  spoke  lightly  of  him. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

OUTSIDE  of  the  range  of  the  ordinary  life  of 
Clintonville,  isolated  from  all  influences  that 
could  lift  them  from  their  degradation  were  the 
Scoopers,  in  their  hamlet  in  a  swampy  hollow,  north- 
west from  the  village.  Dinsmore  had,  once  or  twice, 
walked  nearer  to  it,  on  his  way  to  or  from  some  visit 
in  that  neighborhood,  but  his  approach  had  been  a 
signal  for  the  inhabitants  to  retire  to  their  huts  and 
for  the  snarling  half  fed  curs,  with  a  starved  and 
wolfish  aspect,  to  come  out  from  their  lairs.  These 
outcasts  seemed  altogether  unapproachable.  Nor 
did  enquiry  from  the  farmers  round  about  elicit 
much  information.  They  regarded  them  and  their 
dogs,  which  harassed  the  sheep,  as  much  on  a  par, 
and  their  attitude  toward  them  was  exclusively  de- 
fensive. The  only  person  in  the  tribe  who  excited 
the  least  interest  among  outsiders  was  the  "  witch- 
woman,"  as  they  called  her,  old  Barbara  Fisher.  Of 
her  even  the  well-to-do  farmers  stood  in  awe,  as  one 
who  could  cast  some  sort  of  spell  to  make  their  wells 
run  dry  and  their  cows  give  bloody  milk,  and  who 
had  more  than  once  discovered  a  stolen  horse,  when 
three  hairs  dropped  from  the  lost  animals  tail  were 
brought  to  her.  These  hairs  she  tied  together  in  a 
knot  and  laying  them  on  a  shovel  lighted  the  ends, 

83 


84  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

and  which-ever  way  two  curling  ends  of  the  singed 
hairs  pointed,  thither  the  thief  had  gone.  She  had 
a  wonderful  "charm  string."  It  was  203  feet  long, 
composed  of  shells,  old  coins,  snake  rattles  and  an 
endless  variety  of  buttons,  each  with  a  history,  if 
Barbara  was  to  be  credited.  This  charm,  when 
coiled  around  the  old  woman,  had  a  diameter  of  ten 
feet  or  more,  and  weighed  some  300  pounds,  with 
this  she  practiced  her  divination.  Her  powers  were 
undisputed  by  the  Scoopers,  and  were  not  altogether 
discredited  among  the  country  folk,  at  least  they 
thought  it  not  unwise  to  propitiate  her  from  time  to 
time,  with  gifts,  which,  though  given  in  the  name  of 
charity,  were  a  secret  tribute  to  her  powers. 

More  than  one  country  maid,  with  whom  the 
course  of  true  love  did  not  run  smoothly,  or  per- 
chance, stood  altogether  still,  had  asked  counsel  or 
help  from  old  Barbara  Fisher,  with  many  misgivings, 
it  is  true;  but  nevertheless  they  had  gone  there,  as 
a  last  resort,  and  had  come  away  with  assurances, 
which  were  vague  enough  to  leave  Barbara's  reputa- 
tion unimpaired  which-ever  way  events  might  turn. 

Henry,  after  much  reflection,  decided  that  she, 
alone  was  approachable;  and  yet  he  did  not  quite 
see  his  way  clear,  as  minister  of  the  Presbyterian 
church,  to  pay  court  to  old  Barbara  by  consulting 
her  as  a  fortune-teller.  Nevertheless  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  visit  her,  and  trust  to  the  spur  of  the 
moment  to  extricate  him  from  any  predicament  in 
which  he  might  be  placed.  It  was  easy  to  find  her; 
and  there  was  no  mistaking  her,  when  he  saw  her. 
She  was  about  80  years  old,  but  still  active  and  ap- 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  85 

parently  strong,  though  much  bent  and  wrinkled. 
Her  thin  hair  was  as  white  as  snow,  and  long,  white 
hairs  grew  from  her  chin  in  such  profusion  as  to  give 
them  almost  the  dignity  of  a  beard.  Her  pale  blue 
eyes  were  as  bright  and  keen  as  a  hawk's,  and  she 
fixed  them  so  intently  on  her  visitor  that  there  was 
undeniable  power  in  her  gaze.  There  was  a  very 
great  veneration  for  her  among  the  scoopers,  which 
was  heightened  by  the  fact  that  well  dressed  people 
came  there  to  consult  her,  and  paid  her  money  for 
advice ;  and  her  powers  were  indisputable  after  farmer 
Brown  had  charged  her  with  bewitching  his  dog  so 
that  it  ran  wildly  about  in  a  circle,  suffering  great 
agony,  and  she  had  refused  to  exorcise  the  spirit, 
until  he  had  paid  her  an  exorbitant  sum  of  money. 
Whereupon  the  justice  had  fined  her  three  dollars; 
this  settled,  in  their  minds,  the  fact  that  her  power 
was  beyond  question.  Every  deformed,  idiotic, 
tongue-tied  or  "liver-grown"  child,  (as  the  sickly 
little  ones  were  called),  in  the  whole  region,  was  a 
testimony  to  Dame  Fisher's  secret  powers.  Of  these 
she  did  not  need  to  boast,  there  were  plenty  to  do 
that  in  her  behalf;  she  simply  needed  to  look  wise 
and  be  silent,  while  these  things  were  laid  at  her  door. 

For  the  rest,  they  were  such  a  miserable  horde 
that  Dame  Fisher  stood  out  in  bold  relief,  and  Dins- 
more  heard,  on  every  hand,  of  her  wonderful  powers 
and  of  the  potent  sway  which  she  exercised  over  the 
band. 

He  dressed  himself  in  a  shabby  suit,  which  had 
been  through  many  a  tangled  brier  patch  and  laurel 
thicket  along  the  trout  brooks,  and  started  off,  one 


86  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

afternoon,  to  seek  the  "witch- woman,"  feeling  not 
unlike  the  wayward  King  of  Israel,  when  he  set  him- 
self to  seek  the  witch  of  Endor;  and  he  had  as  little 
idea  of  what  the  outcome  of  his  visit  would  be.  The 
autumn  sunshine  was  still  warm  and  the  hazy  atmos- 
phere was  full  of  dreamy  suggestion,  as  he  stood  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill  that  overlooked  the  little  hamlet. 
Here  and  there,  some  more  industrious  scooper  was 
plying  his  trade,  at  the  door  of  his  hut;  but  none  of 
them  gave  him  any  other  greeting  than  a  sullen  glance 
as  he  enquired  the  way  to  Barbara's  hut,  toward 
which  they  gave  him  a  nod  of  direction.  At  the  door 
of  her  hut  sat  the  old  woman,  sunning  herself,  with 
her  idle  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  and  her  keen  eyes 
blinking  in  the  sun.  On  the  door  of  her  hut  there 
were  nailed  two  bats,  with  outstretched  wings,  and 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  lay  coiled  the  mighty 
"  charm  string ;"  in  one  corner  was  a  brass  caldron 
and  on  the  walls  hung  charms  and  amulets  and 
branches  of  withered  herbs. 

She  had  a  sense  of  the  surroundings  appropriate  to 
her  calling  and  had  enhanced  her  reputation,  not  a 
little,  by  these  stage  properties. 

On  a  shelf  in  the  other  corner  was  a  large  folio, 
bound  in  boards,  with  its  heavy  covers  secured  by 
brass  clasps,  into  which  none  ever  looked  but  herself. 
This  was  her  "Wonder  Book,"  over  300  years  old, 
written  by  a  great  Magician  who  was  her  ancestor, 
many  generations  back.  And  those  who  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  it  in  the  old  beldame's  hands  declared 
that  it  was  written  in  great  black  letters  of  a  strange 
character,  and  the  first  letter  of  the  pages  in  blood. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  87 

On  the  way  over,  Henry  had  been  pondering  how 
he  should  open  his  conversation,  and  here  he  was 
face  to  face  with  her  and  without  any  idea  of  how  he 
was  to  explain  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"Is  this  Dame  Fisher?"  he  asked  with  some  em- 
barrassment. 

"Aye,  so  they  call  me.  What  do  you  want?" 
asked  the  old  beldame,  eyeing  him  suspiciously. 

"  I  was  passing  this  way  and  had  heard  of  you 
often,  my  good  Dame,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  would  like 
to  know  you,"  he  answered. 

"I  am  not  used  to  be  called  'good  Dame;'  and  I 
have  no  time  to  waste  on  them  that  comes  to  gape 
at  me,  with  no  good  reason  for  it "  answered  the  old 
woman,  looking  keenly  at  him. 

Dinsmore  smiled,  as  he  replied  to  this  thrust; 

"There  are  not  many  women  like  you,  Dame 
Fisher;  and  I  wanted  to  be  able  to  say  that  I  knew 
you,  and  also  ask  you  to  tell  me  something  about 
yourself.  I  like  to  know  the  story  of  those  who  are 
my  neighbors;  and  I  feel  an  interest  in  every  one  of 
them." 

"  And  be  there  so  little  business  for  such  as  you, 
that  you  have  time  on  your  hands  to  gossip  about 
every  old  woman  that  lives  within  five  miles  of  your 
meetin'-house  "  said  the  old  woman;  and  her  keen 
look  said,  as  plainly  as  words,  "  You  have  not  fooled 
the  old  witch-woman  with  a  suit  of  shabby  clothes." 

Dinsmore  laughed  outright. 

"  Then  you  know  me,  Dame  Fisher,  as  well  as  I 
know  you.  Ah!  well,  there  is  no  use  trying  to  out- 
wit you,  I  see  that,  so  I  may  as  well  talk  to  you  about 


88  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

your  parish  and  ask  you  what  I  can  do,  with  your 
help,  for  the  good  of  your  people." 

This  tribute  thawed  the  heart  of  the  old  dame  a 
trifle,  and  she  was  less  inclined  to  stand  on  guard 
against  this  cheery,  young  fellow  who  seated  himself 
down  so  comfortably  and  seemed  inclined  to  recog- 
nize her  as  the  leader  of  this  community. 

"You  have  plenty  to  do,  without  bindin'  your 
hands  with  such  thriftless  folk  as  ours.  We  do  well 
enough  as  we  are;  if  other  folks  mind  their  busi- 
ness." 

"Ah!  well,  I  don't  want  to  meddle  with  your 
people,  Dame  Fisher;  but  there  are  a  host  of  little 
children  about  here.  They  can't  all  be  bred  to  the 
scooper's  trade;  some  of  them  must  go  out  into  the 
world  and  look  for  work,  and  they  will  stand  but  a 
poor  chance  if  they  can't  read  or  write.  You  have 
got  some  grand-children  here  yourself,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes  I  have  that,  five  little  ones  that  would  stand 
but  a  poor  show  for  their  bread  and  butter,  with  my 
Barbara's  drunken  husband,  if  I  didn't  help  them, 
out  of  my  own  purse.  Yes,  yes  the  children  must 
live,  and  after  us,  what  are  they  to  do?  That's  what 
I  often  ask  Barbara,  what  will  you  do  when  I'm 
dead  and  gone?" 

"  Then  let  me  try,  with  a  Sunday  School,  over  at 
farmer  Brown's,  with  his  daughter  Fanny  for  teacher, 
and  let  the  children  learn  to  read  and  write,"  said 
Dinsmore. 

"  There  ain't  much  use  of  it,  as  I  can  see  "  answered 
the  old  woman,  drearily.  "They  ain't  got  no 
clothes;    and   you   can't   get   farmer  Brown  to  be 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH,  89 

havin'  scooper's  brats — that's  what  they  calls  'em — 
hangin*  round  his  place." 

"That's  my  look-out,"  said  Dinsmore,  "If  you 
say  that  the  children  may  be  taught,  I  will  see  to  it 
that  they  get  taught.  Won't  you  show  me  your 
charm-string,  Dame  Fisher,  I  have  heard  so  much 
about  it  that  I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  it  is  made." 

The  old  woman  took  him  into  the  hut  and  was 
soon  in  the  midst  of  a  voluble  tale  of  the  wonders  of 
the  charm-string,  and  when  and  how  each  token  was 
gotten  and  added  to  the  treasure.  She  let  the  young 
minister  gaze  on  the  covers  of  the  "Wonder-Book" 
also,  but  denied  him  even  the  most  transient  peep 
between  the  lids.  As  Henry  was  about  to  leave, 
after  inspecting  the  wonders  of  the  cabin  and  listen- 
ing to  Barbara  descant  upon  them,  he  renewed  the 
subject  of  the  school. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Fanny  Brown  "  he  said  "  and, 
on  Sunday  afternoon,  I  will  bring  some  picture  books 
and  readers,  and  will  come  over  here  to  gather  some 
of  the  children  for  a  school  in  farmer  Brown's  barn, 
and  your  four  grand-children  will  surely  come,  and 
such  others  as  you  can  persuade  to  come  with  them." 

"  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  "  she  answered.  Then,  as 
Dinsmore  slipped  a  quarter  into  her  hand  to  buy  some 
sugar  and  tea,  she  said  "  I  can't  take  your  money, 
without  telling  your  fortune." 

"And  I  can't  let  you  tell  my  fortune;  for,  you 
know,  we  ministers  believe  that  God  not  only  made 
but  takes  care  of  us  all,  and  that  He  only  can  know 
what  will  happen  to  us." 

"Oh!  yes,  I  know  all  about  that  preacher's  talk; 


9°  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

but  I  took  you  for  a  sensible  young  man,  and  a  kind- 
hearted  one  too,"  she  said. 

"Oh!  well,  Dame  Fisher,  may  be  you  will  think 
better  of  me,  when  the  children  begin  to  learn,  in  the 
Sunday  School,"  said  Dinsmore,  laughing  kindly. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  old  woman; 
"but  I  can't  take  this  quarter,  without  telling  a  for- 
tune for  it;  for  its  unlucky  to  have  dead  money," 
and  the  old  woman  eyed  the  shining  silver,  as  it  lay 
in  her  open  hand,  with  a  pathetic  look  of  regret. 
And  then  without  further  parley,  she  continued,  "  I 
was  sittin'  in  the  centre  of  my  charm-string,  last 
evening,  for  I  felt  in  my  bones  the  kind  of  ache  I 
always  have  when  a  stranger  is  comin' ;  and  I  fell 
asleep  and  dreamed,  that  there  I  was  a  sittin'  at  my 
door  and  a  young  man  came  and  wanted  to  see  me 
and  wanted  to  know  about  something  strange  and 
new,  and  he  didn't  ask  his  fortune  and  so  it  came  to 
me,  all  the  quicker.  He  had  a  long,  long  life-line 
in  his  palm,  and  very  soon  across  his  life  line  there 
was  a  love-line,  very  deep  and  strong.  And  I  dreamed 
of  two  crows  and  that  means  black  will  mate  with 
black  and  I  dreamed  of  a  robin  and  a  wren  and  that 
means  that  the  tall  will  marry  the  small,  and  the  one 
who  laughs  little  will  marry  the  one  who  laughs 
plenty  for  both;  and  he  is  tired  already  of  a  lonely 
life,  and  he  wants  some  one  to  talk  to,  and  some  one 
to  share  his  troubles,  and  some  one  to  make  him 
merry,  and  she  is  near  at  hand,  and  is  waitin'  until 
he  tells  her  what  he  wants,  and  then  she'll  want  to 
do  as  he  wishes."  Henry  grew  confused,  under  the 
old  witch-wife's  keen  eye,  as  she  drew  a  picture,  for 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  91 

which  he  could  supply  the  living  counterpart  and 
wondered  how  in  her  isolated  life,  she  came  to  know 
so  much,  or  whether  after  all  it  were  only  a  shrewd 
guess.  At  all  events  he  did  not  dare  try  to  find  out 
and  stood  before  her  like  a  child  in  the  dark,  afraid 
to  move  hand  or  foot,  for  fear,  as  the  children  put 
it,  something  would  catch  him.  "  It  was  a  pretty 
dream,  and  though  I  am  an  old,  lone  witch-woman, 
it  made  me  remember  the  time  when  I  was  young, 
and  my  dim  eyes  could  laugh,  as  well  as  my  lips, 
and  they  were  waitin'  for  some  one  to  make  them 
dance.  The  pretty  girl,  I  saw  in  my  dream,  was  a 
kind  young  lady  too,  and  was  good  to  the  poor,  and 
would  be  a  help  to  a  man,  and  make  him  feel  kind 
to  the  poor  and  sick.  She  stood  at  the  door  and 
smiled  on  the  lad  as  he  went  down  the  steps  of  her 
father's  house;  and  he  looked  back,  when  he  got  to 
the  bottom  of  the  steps,  and  she  smiled  again;  and 
the  young  lad  smiled  all  the  way  down  the  gravel 
path;  and  my  'Wonder  Book'  says  the  first  smile 
that  a  maiden  gives  puts  a  wedge  in  the  centre  of  a 
young  man's  heart,  and  the  second  smile  that  a 
maiden  gives  fastens  the  wedge  in  its  place;  but  the 
third  smile  is  right  in  his  eyes  and  drives  the  wedge 
home  and  splits  his  heart  in  two."  Dinsmore'sface 
grew  red,  as  the  old  woman  sketched,  with  all  too  true 
an  outline  for  his  comfort,  his  parting  with  Mary  Low- 
ther,  but  three  days  ago,  as  he  left  the  Judge's  house. 

"But  there  is  no  truth  in  dreams,  Dame  Fisher," 
he  said. 

"  And  yet  the  preacher's  tell  us  about  Pharaoh's 
dreams"  answered  the  old  woman. 


92  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  Well  some  dreams  come  true  because  God  wished, 
by  them,  to  tell  men  something  that  they  needed  to 
know  and  they  would  believe  it  if  it  came  to  them  by 
dreams,  sooner  than  in  any  other  way,"  he  replied. 

"  And  so  do  I  believe  most  in  what  comes  to  me 
by  dreams;  and  my  dream  will  come  true,  and  when 
it  does  come  true,  then  Barbara  Fisher  will  earn  an- 
other silver  piece"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a  sly 
twinkle  in  her  eye. 

"  My  dream,  Dame  Fisher,  is  of  a  tidy  group  of 
little  ones,  that  are  left  uncared  for  now,  gathered  in 
a  school,  and  learning  to  be  good  men  and  women. 
You  will  help  me  to  see  that  my  dream  comes  true," 
said  Dinsmore. 

"I  will  help  you  "  said  the  old  woman  "but  my 
dream  needs  no  help  from  any  one;  it  comes  true  of 
itself." 

Dinsmore  let  her  have  the  last  word,  a  satisfaction 
which  is  said  to  be  an  inexorable  demand  of  her  sex, 
and  in  this  case  he  did  not  feel  inclined  to  dispute  it. 
He  went  his  way,  in  the  autumn  afternoon,  with  the 
dreamy  air  floating  around  him,  and  he  was  not  ten 
paces  from  the  old  woman's  door,  before  his  thoughts 
were  astray  from  the  Sunday  School  in  farmer 
Brown's  barn,  and  the  judge's  front  door  was  in  his 
mind's  eye,  as  clear  as  an  actual  vision,  and  Mary 
Lowther's  dancing  eye  led  him  on  and  Mary  Low- 
ther's  catching  laughter  rang  in  his  ears,  and — ah! 
well  it  is  a  waste  of  words  to  go  on  telling  how,  step 
by  step,  he  trod  the  "primrose  path. "  It  will  suffice 
to  6ay  that  he  was  near  half  a  mile  beyond  farmer 
Brown's  gate,  before  he  remembered  that  his  mission 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  93 

to  Dame  Fisher  had  been,  not  to  have  his  fortune 
told,  but  to  organize  a  Sunday  School  for  the  for- 
saken children  of  thescooper's  dell.  Shame-facedly 
he  retraced  his  steps,  castigating  himself  with  the 
lash  of  conscience  as  faithfully  as  ever  did  anchorite 
with  the  thongs,  when  he  had  been  lured  away  from 
his  devotions  by  thoughts  that  would  intrude  like 
uninvited  guests. 

But  the  lash  did  not  preclude  a  smile  or  two,  as  he 
retraced  that  penitential  half  mile. 

Arrived  at  farmer  Browns  he  gave  them  an  ac- 
count of  his  visit  to  old  Barbara;  and  it  was  as  the 
old  "  witch-woman "  said,  the  thrifty  farmer  was 
averse  to  having  the  "  scooper  cubs  git  the  run  o'  his 
place."  But  by  dint  of  persuasion  Dinsmore  won 
his  permission  to  turn  the  big  barn  into  a  Sunday 
School  room,  and  imparted  to  Fanny  Brown  some  of 
his  hopeful  enthusiasm  as  to  the  result.  And  she  un- 
dertook the  task  which  he  proposed  for  her,  and 
suggested  that  they  ask  Mary  Lowther  to  come 
down  and  lead  the  singing  and  tell  the  children  some 
stories.  "  You  know  Mary  has  taught  the  infant 
class,  and  she's  just  splendid  at  tellin'  Bible  stories. 
I  know  that  our  children'll  walk  all  the  way  to  the 
village,  any  day,  just  to  be  in  Mary's  class." 

"I  don't  know  about  asking  Miss  Lowther,  if  she 
has  the  infant  class"  said  Dinsmore,  who  was  not  yet 
healed  of  the  smart  that  old  Barbara  had  inflicted,  and 
thought  that  the  old  witch-woman  would  see  visions 
and  dream  dreams  of  a  more  pointed  character  still, 
if,  with  her  hawk-eyes,  she  saw  him  coming  with  Mary 
Lowther,  to  farmer  Brown's,  next  Sunday  afternoon. 


94  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  Oh !  Law  "  said  Fanny  "  you  needn't  be  afraid  to 
ask  her;  she'll  come.  She  loves  to  work;  and  don't 
mind  a  walk  either;  and  she  has  her  pony  and  phae- 
ton, if  she  wants  to  ride.  And  I  heard  her  say,  when 
you  first  come,  that  she'd  be  bound  if  she  didn't  do 
all  she  knew  how  to  help  the  new  minister  along. 
So  you  can  just  depend  on  her  the  same's  if  you  had 
already  asked  her." 

Dinsmore  accepted  Mrs.  Brown's  invitation  to  stay 
and  "take  a  sup  with  them,"  and,  after  supper,  the 
young  pastor  was  asked  to  lead  family  prayers  for 
them,  and  declining  farmer  Brown's  invitation  to 
drive  him  home,  thinking  that  he  would  rather  be 
alone  on  the  way,  to  think  over  his  Sunday  School 
plans,  betook  himself  home,  in  the  autumn  moon- 
light. The  Sunday  School  plans  were  soon  settled 
to  his  satisfaction.  These  naturally  led  him  to  think 
of  Mary  Lowther  and  her  place  in  the  proposed 
scheme,  and  the  thought  of  her  naturally  led  him — 
ah!  well  led  him  naturally  and  sweetly,  through  the 
soft  moonlight,  all  the  way  home. 

Do  not  let  us  prejudge  him  as  sentimental  and  an 
easy  prey  to  light  fancies,  he  had  been  driven  to 
think  of  her;  on  every  hand  her  name  had  been 
spoken,  or  the  picture  of  her  had  been  drawn  and  set 
before  him,  and  the  thought  of  her  crept,  softly  and 
sweetly,  into  his  imagination,  even  as  circumstances, 
not  of  his  seeking,  were  making  them  allies  in  every 
good  work.  No  we  cannot  blame  him;  we  may  pity 
him  if  we  choose;  but  he  might  not  be  grateful  for 
our  pity. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

ON  the  next  evening,  after  prayer-meeting,  Henry 
asked  Mary  Lowther  to  aid  them  in  their  pro- 
posed scheme  for  the  improvement  of  the  neglected 
children  of  Scooper's  Hollow.  "  I  should  certainly 
be  ashamed  to  say  no  after  the  talk  that  you  gave 
us,  in  prayer-meeting  "  she  answered,  with  a  merry, 
little  laugh.  "  Are  you  testing  my  faith  by  my 
works?" 

"  Oh !  no  "  he  replied  with  more  confusion  than  the 
occasion  warranted.  "  I  was  talking  over  the  plan 
with  Miss  Fanny  Brown  and  she  suggested  your 
name." 

"  Well  I  will  come,  and  very  gladly  too"  said  Mary. 

Then  Dinsmore  felt  that  he  ought  to  offer  to  pilot 
her  there,  and  yet  he  did  not  feel  quite  clear  in  his 
mind  as  to  the  best  way  of  doing  so;  and,  while  he 
was  fumbling  for  a  convenient  phrase,  she  said 
brightly:  "I  suppose  you  will  be  there,  Mr.  Dins- 
more,  and,  if  you  like  to  walk,  I  shall  ask  your  es- 
cort." 

"Indeed  I  would  much  prefer  it,"  answered  Dins- 
more,  leaving  the  young  lady  to  guess  whether  his 
preference  was  for  the  walk,  or  for  her  company; 
but  so  it  is  that  we  do  not  always  say  what  we  mean, 
any  more  than  we  always  mean  what  we  say. 

The  prayer-meeting  had  been  one  of  more  than 
95 


96  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

usual  interest.  Dinsmore  was  making  an  effort  to 
enlist  some  of  the  people  in  what  he  called  the  con- 
ference quarter.  He  had  arranged  the  prayer-meet- 
ing on  rather  a  novel  plan.  They  occupied  an  hour, 
from  half  past  seven  to  half  past  eight.  But  the 
prayer-meeting  proper  did  not  begin  until  a  quarter 
before  eight.  For  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour,  he 
was  not  in  the  desk,  but  walked  round  among  the 
pews  shaking  hands  with  one  another  and  talking 
aloud  with  them,  asking  them  questions,  principally 
about  the  subject  of  the  prayer-meeting,  which  he 
always  announced  the  week  before  and  again  at  the 
Sunday  service.  The  subject  for  this  evening  was 
"sweetness  and  light."  The  large  number  of  his 
hearers  were  a  silent  audience,  which  he  trusted  were 
receptive  of  what  he  strove  to  teach  them,  but  cer- 
tainly were  not  able  to  impart  anything  of  that  which 
they  received.  These,  ordinarily,  spoke  in  sepulchral 
whispers,  or  sat  altogether  silent;  but,  by  dint  of 
persistent  effort,  Dinsmore  broke  up  this  propensity 
to  whisper.  To  some  he  would  appeal  for  sugges- 
tions or  questions  which  they  would  like  him  to  take 
up;  and  sometimes  he  gained  apt  and  homely  re- 
sponses. 

Mrs.  Livingston  always  answered  to  the  point  and 
Mary  Lowther  too  was  active  among  the  younger 
girls,  some  of  whom  only  giggled  when  Dinsmore 
addressed  them.  Deacon  Shelton  was  all  too  apt  to 
fall  into  a  lengthened  homily,  which  sounded  omi- 
nously like  an  abstract  of  one  of  his  father's  sermons, 
and  it  gave  Dinsmore  not  a  little  trouble  to  curb  the 
loquacious  Deacon. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  97 

But  old  Deacon  Gilder  could  be  relied  on,  always, 
to  speak  pithily  and  to  the  point,  albeit  much  in- 
clined in  his  talk  to  ride  his  two  hobbies,  a  crusade 
against  rum  and  tobacco;  but  never  did  he  do  this 
in  his  prayers,  which  were  real,  earnest  and  direct, 
as  to  a  person  with  whom  he  was  talking  familiar- 
ly, but  reverently.  He  strove  very  faithfully  with 
the  young  pastor  against  the  occasional  segar  with 
which  Dinsmore  would  quiet  his  nerves,  after  a  hard 
day's  work,  but,  as  yet,  without  avail;  so  the  old 
man  pitied  him  and  loved  him,  and  trusted  to  the 
persistency  which  he  purposed  to  use  in  winning  his 
pastor  to  better  ways. 

Hugh  McDonald  the  white-haired,  rosy-cheeked 
Scotchman  was  sure  to  have  some  quaint  and  homely 
saying,  to  the  point,  and  all  the  better  put,  for  the 
Scottish  words  that,  here  and  there,  cropped  out  in 
his  richly  accented  utterance.  Sometimes  their  very 
pithiness  would  provoke  a  smile,  as  when  he  prayed 
"  Oh  Lord  prevent  us,  that  we  do  not  learn  to  ape  the 
devil  and  strut  aboot  the  warld  as  if  we  were  some- 
body." 

Then  too  from  Deacon  Shrake  there  sometimes 
came  just  as  quaint  bits  of  strange  mental  processes; 
but  not  always  so  full  of  pith  or  wisdom,  as  when 
the  subject  of  family  worship  was  under  considera- 
tion, the  week  before,  Dinsmore  was  dismayed  to  hear 
his  sapient  announcement"  I  believe  there  be  warrant 
o'  scriptur'  for  holdin*  that  the  chief  sin  of  the  five 
foolish  virgins  was  that  they  did  not  maintain  family 
worship." 

But,   with  all  these  drawbacks,    Henry   felt   that 


98  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

there  was  this  compensation  in  his  plan,  that,  after 
some  fashion  or  other,  each,  according  to  his  ability, 
was  set  to  thinking  upon  the  subject  that  was  to  be 
presented  to  them. 

On  this  evening  he  had  asked  Mrs.  Livingston,  as 
he  stood  by  her  side,  in  the  aisle 

"  What  can  you  tell  me  about  the  sweetness  that 
comes  from  light,  Mother  Livingston." 

"Well,  I  ain't  no  hand  at  talkin'  in  meetin'  and 
least  of  all  tryin'  to  teach  my  minister;  but  I  du 
know  that  there  is  nothin'  like  light  for  keepin'  milk- 
pans  sweet,  and  there  is  no  use  tryin'  any  other  way 
than  settin'  them  in  the  sun.  Stove  heat  won't  do 
it,  so  as  you  don't  give  'em  a  sunnin'  from  time  to 
time — Mebbe  folks  get  sour  the  same  way." 

"  How  is  it  about  the  butter,  must  that  be  made 
in  the  light?"  said  Dinsmore,  smiling,  as  others  did, 
at  the  homely  wit  of  the  old  woman. 

"Well  no;  on  the  contrary,  you  want  to  keep 
sweet  butter  in  the  dark.  But  mebbe  churnin  is 
more  like  afflictions,  and  when  we're  beat  about  then 
we  show  whether  there  is  any  good  in  us  or  not." 

"  I  guess  that  is  pretty  near  the  truth  of  it  Mrs. 
Livingston — The  word  that  we  use  for  trouble,  tribu- 
lations, comes  from  a  Latin  word  tribulum,  a  thresh- 
ing flail,  and  tells  us  that  troubles  thresh  the  chaff 
from  the  wheat;  and  the  same  lesson  is  taught  you 
by  the  churn  that  brings  the  butter  from  the  cream." 

•■  Du  tell?"  was  the  old  dame's  only  comment. 

"  I  like  to  know  these  homely  illustrations  of  the 
truth.  They  make  our  every-day  life  preach  to  us 
— And  what  have  you  to  say,  Mr.   McDonald,  that 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  99 

will  give  me  another  homely  figure  for  my  talk  on 
light,  to-night "  said  Dinsmore  to  "  Auld  Hughie, "  as 
they  called  the  Scotch  Deacon,  whose  twinkling  eye, 
as  he  listened  to  the  talk  between  Mrs.  Livingston 
and  Henry,  assured  the  young  pastor  that  the  canny 
Scot  was  wide  awake  on  the  subject. 

"Aweel"  answered  McDonald,  "I was  grubbin'  in 
my  cellar,  one  day,  makin*  ready  and  clean  for  the 
roots  to  be  put  awa'  for  the  winter,  and  I  found  a 
wee  bit  potato,  puir  thing,  that  was  left  alone,  sin 
last  spring;  and  it  had  made  shift  to  sprout  in  the 
darkness  and  had  grown  up  atween  the  box  and  the 
wall  till  it  found  the  licht,  at  the  window,  and  there 
it  lay  down  its  head  on  the  window  sill  wi'  twa  green 
leaves  on  the  top  o'  it,  and  a*  the  rest  o'  it  was  but 
the  wraith  o'  a  potato  stem,  wi'  ne'er  a  leaf  alang  it. 
But  it  minded  me  o'  the  Lord's  sayin'  'a  bruised  reed 
hewinna  brake;'  and  I  took  the  puir  thing  out  and 
plantit  it  in  the  garden,  and  surely  it  turned  green; 
but  it  winna  bear  ony  fruit.  And  isna  that  like  mony 
a  puir  sickly  soul,  Mister  Dinsmore." 

"Indeed  you're  right,  Mr.  McDonald;  and  that  is 
one  thing  that  I  want  to  put  before  you  to-night;" 
and,  with  that,  Dinsmore  turned  to  the  desk  and  gave 
out  a  hymn. 

Mary  Lowther  played  the  melodeon  and  led  the 
singing  in  a  way  that  put  sweetness  and  light  into 
that  part  of  the  service.  After  a  prayer  by  Deacon 
Gilder,  sweet  and  simple  in  its  heart-felt  recognition 
of  the  mercy  that  had  given  us  the  power  of  seeing 
and  such  a  wealth  of  beauty  to  reward  our  sight,  he 
plead  for  those  who  could  not  see;  and  Miss  Anna 


ioo  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Smith,  whose  gentle  face  was  pathetic  in  its  sweet 
content,  when  you  knew  that  those  soft  eyes  were 
only  turned  toward  you  in  courtesy,  but  knew  neither 
day  nor  night,  sighed  softly  to  herself  as  the  tears 
trickled  through  her  lids. 

Then  Dinsmore  talked  to  them,  for  fifteen  minutes, 
on  the  text  "  The  light  is  sweet  and  a  pleasant  thing 
it  is  to  behold  the  sun"  Eccl.  n,  7. 

"  It  is  a  fashionable  phrase  'sweetness  and  light' 
with  which  some  have  beguiled  themselves  into  think- 
ing that  they  have  found  a  new  philosophy  or  relig- 
ion; but  it  is  as  old  as  the  very  beginning  of  the  re- 
ligion of  the  Bible,  and  the  truth  is  to  be  sought,  not 
in  the  twilight  of  human  reason,  but  from  Him  who 
is  light.  Here  is  the  true  light,  and  it  is  for  every 
man  that  comes  into  the  world. 

"  Its  clear  shining  enlightens  the  whole  nature, 
giving  light  to  the  reason  or  understanding,  and  to 
the  conscience,  and  to  the  heart." 

He  then  made  use  of  some  of  the  homely  illustra- 
tions that  had  been  furnished  him  by  his  quarter- 
hour  talk;  and  closed  by  making  the  broad  distinc- 
tion between  the  philosopher's  doctrine  and  the 
doctrine  of  the  Bible. 

"With  them  the  doctrine  is  that  light  and  sweet- 
ness shall  be  sought  for  its  own  sake  and  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  seek  it;  but  the  urgent  teaching 
of  the  Bible  is  that  we  must  seek  it,  in  order  to  give 
it  away.  It  cannot  be  kept,  any  more  than  the  sun 
can  keep  from  shining;  to  have  light  we  must  give 
light." 

Then  he  told  them  of  his  plan  to  reach  the  children 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  IOI 

of  the  outcast  Scoopers,  and  that,  after  he  had  got- 
ten this  plan  in  working  order,  he  should  need  clothes 
and  books  and  some  money  with  which  to  start  the 
school,  and  this,  with  what  help  he  needed  in  the 
way  of  teachers,  was  to  be  their  share  of  the  work. 

After  this,  what  answer  could  Mary  Lowther  make 
to  his  request  but  a  cheerful  assent? 

On  the  next  sabbath  afternoon,  directly  after  din- 
ner, Dinsmore  called  at  the  Judge's  house  and  found 
Mary  ready  for  the  walk.  There  was  a  fine  touch 
of  womanly  delicacy  in  the  plain  and  simple  dress 
which  Miss  Lowther  wore.  Dinsmore  recognized 
the  feeling  that  prompted  her  to  this  plainness  of  at- 
tire and  felt  how  fine  and  true  her  woman's  instinct 
was,  when,  even  in  such  a  trifle  as  this,  she  regarded 
the  feelings  of  those  whom  she  sought  to  reach.  He 
could  reason  out  the  laws  and  grounds  of  Christian 
conduct,  and  analyze  the  Christian  character  and  the 
motives  that  should  govern  conduct;  but,  after  all, 
there  were  lessons  that  he  could  learn,  and,  on  every 
hand,  he  was  beginning  to  see  that  living  truth  was 
to  be  sought  in  human  hearts,  and  not  in  books. 

They  went  out  of  the  village  and  on,  over  the 
hill,  in  the  glorious  autumn  sunshine,  and  the  en- 
chanted ground  and  the  princess,  and  all  the  fairy 
tale  seemed  as  though  it  were  indeed  come  true. 

But  the  way  was  not  trod  in  the  silent  reflection 
which  had  marked  his  lonely  ride  up  through  "  the 
Barrens." 

He  began  to  tell  Mary  Lowther  something  of  his 
inner  history,  his  hopes,  his  fears,  his  dreams  and 
how,  in  some  measure,  he  was  realizing  them,  and 


102  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

as  she  listened  entering  into  all  his  plans  (for  she 
was  a  dear,  good  girl)  there  was  borne  in  upon  his 
heart  the  emphatic  teaching  of  old  mother  Living- 
ston, that,  "  of  all  men,  a  minister  needed  someone 
to  talk  to." 

As  they  came  up  over  "the  hill,  where  the  road 
forks,  and  the  one  branch  leads  off  over  the  hill  to 
Pleasant  Pond  and  the  other  winds  down  through 
Scooper's  Hollow,  past  Hard-Scrabble  (astheScoop- 
er's  hamlet  was  called),  there,  at  the  fork  of  the 
road,  was  old  Barbara  Fisher  with  nine  of  the  un- 
kempt, ragged  scooper  brats.  They  looked  thor- 
oughly scared,  and,  like  a  pack  of  wild  rabbits,  ready 
to  take  to  the  woods,  at  the  slightest  approach  of 
the  strangers.  Barbara,  apparently,  had  been  taxed 
to  the  utmost  in  fetching  them  hither,  and  it  seemed 
very  doubtful  whether  she  had  not  reached  the  limit 
of  her  influence  to  move  them  farther,  by  entreaty  or 
threats.  They  huddled  close  to  her,  it  is  true,  like 
a  frightened  covey  of  partridges,  and  as  many  as 
could  do  so  clutched  tight  hold  of  her  scanty  skirts, 
and  those  who  could  not  get  hold  of  her,  held  fast  to 
those  who  had  a  grip  of  her  garments,  so  that,  if  the 
strain  of  a  sudden  fright  had  been  put  upon  them, 
her  well-worn  skirts  would  have  been  torn  to  shreds. 
But  while  they  clung  to  her,  as  their  sole  defence,  it 
might  be  another  matter  when  she  tried  to  deliver 
them  over  bodily  to  the  enemy.  In  such  a  crisis 
Dinsmore  and  Mary  might  have  to  hunt  their  Sun- 
day School  through  the  copses  of  Scooper's  Hollow. 

Mary  Lowther  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance, 
and  asked  Dinsmore  to  walk  on,  up  the  hill  road,  to 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  103 

farmer  Browns,  and  "  Remember  Lot's  wife "  she 
said  "and  do  not  look  back." 

She  carried  a  satchel,  slung  over  her  shoulder  with 
a  strap,  and  out  of  it,  she  drew  a  parcel  of  tea  for 
old  Barbara,  being  careful  to  hold  the  bag  so  low 
that  the  children  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  some  cook- 
ies, doughnuts  and  ginger-snaps  within. 

"I  have  brought  you  some  tea,  Aunt  Barbara," 
she  said,  smiling  pleasantly  on  the  children.  "  And 
is  this  little  Barbara,  for  whom  I  dressed  the  dolly, 
when  she  was  sick,"  and  she  patted  the  head  of  a  lit- 
tle flaxen-haired  child,  who  had  the  blue-eyes  of  old 
Barbara,  which  had  descended  to  the  second  gener- 
ation. "  Thank  you  kindly,  my  pretty  lady  "  said  the 
old  woman.  "  Aye  that  is  Barbara.  Curtsey  to  the 
lady,  you  ill-mannered  hussy "  she  said,  giving  the 
child  a  cuff,  which  produced  a  certain  semblance  of 
obeisance.  "Ah  but  they're  an  ill-mannered  set  of 
young  uns",  she  continued;  "and  they're  no  ways 
worth  your  takin'  all  the  trouble  to  come  here  to 
teach  'em;  for  what  they  learn  from  the  pretty  lady, 
on  one  day,  they'll  forget  before  she  comes  again. 
But  it'll  bring  you  good  luck,  one  way  or  another, 
this  tramping  out,  of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  to  do  a 
good  turn  to  the  Scooper's  children." 

If  Mary  Lowther  guessed  the  old  woman's  hid- 
den meaning,  she  did  not  show  it  by  any  outward 
sign;  she  probably  had  not  the  slightest  inkling 
of  it. 

All  her  thought  and  address  were  needed  to  secure 
the  leadership  of  this  covey  of  wild  game,  and  get 
them  into  farmer  Brown's  big  barn.     She  was  glad 


104  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

that  it  was  the  barn  and  not  the  parlor,  for  before 
the  terrors  of  the  horse-hair  furniture  and  the  splen- 
dors of  the  gorgeous  carpet  they  would  have  flown, 
when  their  steps  were  on  the  sill.  Into  the  barn  she 
might  hope  to  lead  them,  perhaps  some  of  them  had 
been  there  before,  on  a  foraging  tour  for  fresh  eggs; 
but  this  may  be  doing  them  injustice. 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  kind  of  children's  party 
over  in  the  barn  "  she  said  to  Barbara,  not  looking 
at  the  others.  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  some  stories, 
and  sing  for  you,  and  teach  you  to  sing  a  little  with 
me,  if  you  will.  Then  we  will  have  a  little  feast  with 
these  cookies  and  doughnuts,"  and  she  opened  her 
bag  and  showed  them  the  tempting  contents,  and  it 
was  evident  that  the  appeal  was  not  in  vain.  Little 
Barbara  lifted  her  eyes  to  Mary's,  as  she  bent  over 
the  child,  took  a  long,  searching  look  right  into  her 
eyes;  then,  with  childish  decision,  let  go  her  grand- 
mother's skirt  and  put  her  hand  in  that  of  the  pretty, 
young  lady,  who  had  dressed  the  doll  for  her  when 
she  was  sick.  And  Mary  was  repaid  for  that  unre- 
membered  act  of  kindness  done  on  an  impulse  of 
compassion,  when  old  Barbara  begged  at  her  father's 
door,  in  the  name  of  her  sick  grand-child.  The 
next  time  that  the  old  woman  came,  the  doll  was 
ready.  The  Judge  had  laughed  at  her  for  being  so 
easily  " gulled  by  the  old  witch-woman's  lies;"  but, 
all  the  same,  he  kissed  his  girl  and  blessed  her  for 
her  kind  heart,  if  he  did  make  merry  over  her  too 
easy  credulity.  Now  it  would  be  her  turn  to  boast 
over  him,  that  she  had  felt  the  touch  of  reality  in 
the  pathos  of  the  old  witch-woman's  voice,  when  she 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  105 

told  the  tale  of  her  little  grand-child's  sickness,  which 
it  turned  out  was  true. 

She  turned  to  go,  with  little  Barbara  holding  her 
hand  tightly;  then,  looking  back,  said  to  the  rest  of 
the  pack  of  urchins  "  Barbara  and  I  will  have  a  very 
nice  time  together;  but  it  will  be  ever  so  much  nicer 
to  have  all  of  you  come  along.     Here's  plenty  for  all. " 

"  Go  long  with  you,  you  foolish  brats  "  urged  old 
Barbara,  flinging  them  from  her.  "  Don't  you  know 
when  you've  got  a  good  thing?" 

Thus  urged,  in  both  directions,  the  majority  of  the 
children  timidly  followed  Mary,  who  began  to  sing 
to  Barbara,  as  they  went  along,  and  then  fell  into 
chat  with  her  about  the  doll,  asking,  particularly 
after  her  health  and  the  state  of  each  piece  of  her 
small  wardrobe.  And  as  the  others  heard  Barbara 
begin  to  prattle  vigorously,  they  drew  nearer  and 
some  ventured  so  far  as  to  enter  a  contradiction  to 
the  little  girl's  statements  in  regard  to  this  doll, 
which  had  been  a  famous  character  among  the  chil- 
dren of  the  settlement,  being  the  only  whole  doll  that 
had  ever  been  known  in  Hard-scrabble,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  wonderful  clothes  in  which  it  was  arrayed. 
As  the  spirit  of  contradiction  drew  one  and  another 
into  the  controversy,  or  led  them  to  mention  scenes 
and  incidents  connected  with  the  doll  and  her  ward- 
robe which  Barbara  omitted,  Mary  took  advantage 
of  this  to  learn  the  names  of  each  new  combatant 
that  entered  the  list,  and,  before  they  had  reached 
the  barn,  knew  the  names  of  more  than  half  of  her 
covey;  and  little  Barbara  would  have  followed  her 
anywhere. 


106  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

As  she  went  off  leading  the  flock,  like  the  famous 
Pied  Piper,  Old  Barbara  watched  her  and  muttered 
"Aye,  she  has  the  beguilin'  tongue  o'  them,  when 
they're  young  and  pretty.  But,  bless  her  pretty 
heart!  she  was  kind  to  me  when  little  Bab  was  sick. 
She  shall  have  all  the  good  luck  that  I  can  help  her 
to;  and  she'll  lose  none  of  it  by  comin'  over  the  hill 
with  that  fine  young  lad,  every  Sunday  afternoon,  to 
teach  the  Scooper's  brats." 

Arrived  at  the  barn  they  found  a  very  primitive 
arrangement  but,  on  that  account,  the  most  suitable 
to  ensure  them  success.  There  was  a  table,  with  the 
pail  of  water  and  tumbler  that  seems  to  be  an  essen- 
tial feature  of  every  gathering  in  a  country  school- 
house,  whether  secular  or  religious.  Behind  the 
table  were  two  wooden  bent-back  chairs  and,  on  one 
side,  was  Miss  Fanny  Brown's  little  portable  melo- 
deon.  The  seats  had  been  lifted  from  two  carry-alls 
and  set  on  the  floor,  and  these,  with  some  sheaves 
of  straw,  formed  the  benches  for  the  children.  All 
this  had  an  easy,  natural  look  that  did  not  over-awe 
the  wild  flock ;  they  eyed  the  melodeon  askance  but 
it  was  not  a  formidable  looking  monster.  Besides, 
the  barn  doors  were  left  open  and  escape  was  easy, 
as  none  of  the  enemy  were  in  the  rear. 

Overhead  the  sweet  hay  hung  out  from  the  mows 
and  the  quiet,  sedate  farm-horses  peered  out  from 
their  stalls  at  this  unwonted  invasion  of  their  Sabbath 
rest,  and  from  the  nearest  stall,  a  soft-eyed  cow 
watched  curiously  the  proceedings,  dividing  her  at- 
tention between  the  Sunday  School  programme  and 
a  staggering  calf  that  whisked  about  the  stall  in  the 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  1 07 

most  uncomfortable  way,  now  solemnly  eyeing  the 
children,  and  then,  making  a  frisky  rush  around  the 
heels  of  its  mother,  as  though  seized  with  an  idea 
sudden  and  imperative;  and  with  every  repetition  of 
the  obstreperous  conduct,  the  cow  gave  a  deep  low 
of  remonstrance  or  warning.  All  this  interested  the 
children  very  much.  They  were  akin  to  these  dumb 
creatures,  and  had  a  feeling  of  assurance  in  their 
presence. 

At  the  first  notes  of  the  melodeon  the  horses  pricked 
up  their  ears,  the  calf  went  frisking  around  the  stall 
with  tail  erect  and  an  old  hen,  who  had  been  laying 
an  egg  in  the  mow,  came  fluttering  down,  with  a  tre- 
mendous cackling,  and  ran  out  of  the  barn,  while  the 
old  cow  came  in  with  a  fine  lowing  bass;  all  this 
made  the  children  laugh  and  set  them  entirely  at  ease. 

Dinsmore  told  them  the  story  of  Joseph,  and  then 
handed  them  over  to  Mary  Lowther,  who  sang  for 
them  a  bright,  lively  tune,  with  a  simple  refrain. 
This  she  tried  to  teach  them,  but  there  was  not  a 
peep  or  mutter  from  any  of  them  when  it  came  to 
their  turn  to  join  in  the  refrain,  save  only  from  little 
Bab.  She  had  given  herself  over  to  the  pretty  lady, 
heart  and  soul,  and  so  she  set  herself  firmly  on  her 
little  square  feet  and  shouted  lustily,  all  out  of  tune, 
but  with  plenty  of  pluck  in  her  singing. 

She  was  rewarded  with  Mary's  hearty  comment 
"  Well  done,  my  brave  Bab.  The  first  cooky  shall 
be  yours,  for  that;"  and  Bab  was  as  proud  as  a 
prima  donna. 

The  cookies  were  distributed,  and  then  Dinsmore 
tried  to  teach  them  a  text  of  scripture,  and  made  a 


108  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

short  prayer,  a  portion  of  the  service  which  was 
wholly  unappreciated  by  these  little  ones. 

"What's  he  adoin'  Bab?  He's  shut  his  eyes,  and 
so  hes  the  young  ladies;  let's  cut, "  whispered  Bab's 
next-door  neighbor,  appealing  to  her  as  an  authority. 
"  You  set  still  "  answered  Bab  "  she  knows  what  she's 
about.  When  they  wakes  up,  they's  goin'  to  give 
us  dough-nuts." 

"Why  don't  he  talk  with  his  eyes  open?"  queried 
another  who  had  listened  eagerly  to  this  whispered 
conference,  and  was  a  little  overawed  by  the  unusual 
exhibition. 

"I  dunno "  answered  Bab  "unless  he's  thinkin. 
Granny  mostly  shets  her  eyes,  when  she  thinks. 
Mebbe  he's  askin'  our  fortunes." 

But  they  were  not  left  long  to  ponder;  for  Dins- 
more's  prayer  was  very  short  and  simple. 

"I  wonder  if  he'll  get  what  he  wants,"  thought 
Bab  to  herself,  as  she  looked  up  into  the  hay,  to  see 
whether  there  was  any  one  hidden  up  there. 

As  Mary  distributed  the  doughnuts  Bab  pulled  her 
down  and  whispered  in  her  ear  "who's  up  in  the 
mow?" 

The  question  was  so  earnest  and  direct  that  Mary 
turned,  with  a  start,  to  see  what  the  child  meant. 

"Why  no  one  Bab,  did  you  see  any  one?"  she 
said. 

"  No  maam  "  answered  Bab  "  but  he  was  talkin'  to 
the  mow." 

"  What  do  you  mean  child  ?  Who  was  talking  to 
the  mow  ?"  asked  Mary,  utterly  at  a  loss. 

"Why  him,    your  young    man,   when  he  shut  his 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  109 

eyes,"  answered  Bab,  pointing  to  Dinsmore.  Mary 
flushed  slightly,  as  she  answered  "  I  will  get  him  to 
tell  you  about  it." 

"  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  she  said,  as  she  came  back  from 
her  round  "the  children  do  not  understand,  what  you 
were  doing  when  you  prayed.  Bab  asked  me  who 
you  were  talking  to  in  the  hay-mow,  when  you  shut 
your  eyes." 

So  the  exercises  in  the  barn  were  concluded  with 
what  Dinsmore  felt  to  be,  one  of  the  hardest  tasks 
which  he  was  ever  set  to  do,  to  explain  to  these  chil- 
dren what  was  the  nature  and  ground  of  our  belief  in 
prayer. 

But  there  was  this  comfort  and  pleasure  in  it,  he 
was  answering  an  enquiry,  they  were  interested  in 
hearing  the  answer,  he  was  telling  them  truths  which 
they  had  never  heard  before.  There  was  something 
very  inspiriting  in  all  this,  it  was  sowing  in  virgin 
soil.  They  listened  with  keen  attention,  with  won- 
der and  the  simple  faith  that  has  never  heard  the 
mooting  of  a  doubt.  Then  when  they  had  sung,  or 
rather  Mary  had  sung  to  them,  another  hymn,  she 
said, 

"Now  you  can  go  children;  but  next  Sunday  after- 
noon we  want  you  to  come  here;  and  we  will  have 
some  pretty  picture  books  and  begin  to  teach  you  to 
read.  Good  bye  now,  until  next  Sunday  afternoon; 
and  then  bring  some  more  of  your  playmates  with 
you." 

At  first  it  seemed  as  though  it  would  be  no  less 
hard  to  get  rid  of  them  than  it  was  to  persuade  them 
to  come.     They  lingered  in   their  seats  apparently 


no  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

afraid  to  move,  and  then,  as  if  moved  by  one  sudden 
impulse  they  jumped  out  of  their  seats,  and  made  a 
wild  rush  for  the  door  and  out  into  the  field  and 
down  the  road;  all  except  little  Bab.  She  stood  her 
ground  bravely,  standing  alone  in  the  middle  of  the 
barn  floor,  with  her  flushed  face  and  a  scared  look 
in  her  blue  eyes  wide  and  wild;  irresolute  she  looked 
for  a  moment  toward  the  door  where  her  companions 
were  gone,  and  then  turned  and  ran  to  Mary  and 
hid  her  face  in  the  folds  of  her  dress. 

"  Must  I  go  away  now  ?  Can't  I  walk  down  to  the 
forks,  hold  of  your  hand  "  she  pleaded,  plaintively. 

"  Why  surely  you  can,  Bab,  and  right  glad  I  will 
be  to  have  you;  and,  every  Sunday  I  shall  expect  you 
to  meet  me  there  and  we  will  walk  up  here  holding 
hands,  and  down  again  holding  hands;  and  we  shall 
be  great  friends." 

"I  will,"  said  Bab;  and  there  was  no  doubt  about 
it,  after  that. 

As  Dinsmore  and  Mary  went  home,  after  parting 
with  Bab,  and  talked  over  the  opening  of  theScooper 
Sunday  School,  they  were  very  well  content  with 
the  first  afternoon's  work.  They  had  secured  the 
confidence,  and  in  some  degree,  the  interest  of  the 
children;  and  they  both  felt  that  they  had  one 
stout  missionary  in  the  person  of  the  doughty,  little 
Bab. 

"Isn't  she  a  brave  little  lass?"  said  Mary,  who 
was  won  by  Bab,  quite  as  thoroughly  as  Bab  had 
been  won  to  her.  "  My  heart  always  warms  to  a 
trusting  child.  Of  all  the  winsome  ways  of  child- 
hood none  touches  me  more  to  the  quick  than   that 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  Ill 

open,  hearty  confidence.  It  makes  us  friends  at 
once." 

"Yes,"  said  Dinsmore,  crediting,  in  his  mind,  as 
much  to  the  winsome  ways  of  Mary  as  to  those  of 
the  child.  "Yes,  they  win  us  quickly  and  firmly. 
And,  as  I  think  of  our  afternoon's  work,  the  beauti- 
ful phrase  of  the  prophet  comes  to  me,  'A  little  child 
shall  lead  them. '  This  will  be  true  perhaps,  of  this 
outcast  band,  these  Ishmaelites  that  none  can  be- 
friend; I  have  felt  that  it  was  hopeless;  I  could  not 
go  among  them  and  do  anything  but  excite  their  sus- 
picion, and  what  I  could  not  do,  and  you  could  not 
do,  perhaps,  that  little  child  is  going  to  do.  And  so 
I  not  only  love  such  a  child  and  feel  drawn  to  her, 
but  I  have  a  reverence  for  a  child,  as  a  sort  of  priest 
of  God;  in  its  simplicity,  owning  a  power  which 
we,  with  riper  years  have  lost,  to  appeal  directly 
to  the  higher  side  of  human  nature  and  enlist  in 
behalf  of  better  things,  hearts  that  are  sodden  to 
every  other  influence. 

"That  child  can  win  the  other  children  of  the  ham- 
let, and,  more  than  this,  the  fathers  and  mothers  to 
think  better  of  us  and  our  scheme  than  we  could  do, 
by  the  most  earnest  argument  with  them.  They 
will  believe  her  and  trust  her  statement  that  we  mean 
them  well,  when  they  would  put  a  sinister  interpre- 
tation on  anything  we  might  say.  It  was  a  grand 
missionary  work  when  you  secured  Bab,  and  through 
Bab,  old  Barbara." 

Then  Mary  remembered  the  unconsidered  trifle 
which  won  the  victory,  of  which  Dinsmore  knew 
nothing,  and  she  thought  what  a  mighty  truth  lay  in 


112  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

the  Apostle's  words  "  do  good  unto  all  men  as  we 
have  opportunity."  How  small  the  opportunity, 
which  she  had  embraced ;  how  wide-reaching  its  con- 
sequences had  been.  It  seemed  as  if  that  doll  were 
to  be  an  important  factor  in  the  evangelizing  of 
Scooper's  Hollow. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  following  week  Dinsmore  was  called  outside 
the  bounds  of  his  hillside  parish,  to  the  Fall 
meeting  of  Presbytery  at  Tonanda. 

Dr.  Bainbridge's  elder  brought  his  six-seated 
mountain  wagon  and  picked  up  Dinsmore  on  the  way, 
and  to  their  party  were  added  Henry  Wurtz,  pastor 
of  Plainville,  whose  predominating  quality  was  con- 
scientiousness, and  Nathan  Wood  the  Dominie  of 
Weymouth,  who  had  perhaps  a  less  imperative  con- 
science and  a  large  capacity  for  humor,  and,  later 
on,  they  picked  up  Father  Search,  as  he  was  called, 
who,  having  no  fixed  parish,  made  the  whole  country 
his  parish  and  worked  here  and  there,  as  opportunity 
offered,  in  season  and  out  of  season.  He  was  an 
ardent  temperance  lecturer,  and  had  spoken  to 
enormous  audiences  all  over  the  country,  and,  in  the 
course  of  a  period  of  labor,  extensive  both  as  to  time 
and  place,  had  met  with  many  singular  and  some 
very  stirring  experiences.  He  was  a  fine  raconteur, 
with  that  genuine  gift  at  story-telling  that  does  not 
suffer  the  tale  to  flag  for  want  of  the  proper  touches 
to  round  it  off.  He  was  therefore  a  good  companion 
for  a  long  drive.  Very  small  of  stature,  with  a  long, 
white  beard,  an  incisive  eye  and  mode  of  speech,  he 
held  his  hearers,  as  did  the  Ancient  Mariner.  He 
8  113 


H4  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

had  but  just  returned  from  a  tour  in  the  lower  coun- 
ties, and  was  full  of  these  his  last,  but  by  no  means 
least,  stirring  experiences. 

While  laboring  in  White  County  he  had  heard  of  a 
lumbering  village  called  Buck's  Nest  where  the  rough 
and  ready  men  of  the  woods,  who  drank  whiskey  like 
milk,  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  "  the  little,  white- 
bearded  scoundrel  who  was  goin'  round  the  country 
black-guardin'  a  man  for  takin'  his  sup."  This  was 
the  invitation  that  sounded  sweetest  in  his  ears,  for 
he  was  sure  of  speaking  to  the  purpose,  under  such 
conditions. 

He  was  full  of  his  experiences,  and  Dr.  Bainbridge 
took  occasion,  at  once,  to  draw  his  fire. 

"  How  did  you  fare  in  your  crusade  at  Buck's- 
Nest,  Father  Search?"  he  asked,  as  soon  as  the  little 
man  was  fairly  seated. 

He  stroked  his  long  white  beard,  his  keen  eyes 
glistened,  and  there  was  a  smile  playing  under  his 
white  mustache  that  assured  those  who  knew  the 
symptoms  that  they  were  to  be  treated  to  something 
racy. 

"Well,  Brother  Bainbridge,"  began  the  little  man, 
eyeing  the  Doctor  keenly,  "  I  don't  know  how  you 
will  measure  the  success,  for  your  lines  have  fallen 
in  such  pleasant  places,  and  you  have  such  a  span 
of  horses,  and  an  elegant  fur-trimmed  coat,  and  Brus- 
sels carpets  on  your  floors,  and  a  silk-dressed  con- 
gregation, that  perhaps  you  may  not  think  such  an 
experience  of  much  account,  for  I  converted  nothing 
but  poor,  rough  lumber-men;  yet  I  regard  it  as  one 
of  the  triumphs  of  my  life." 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  1 15 

The  Doctor  smiled ;  he  was  used  to  these  excur- 
sions of  Father  Search's;  and  they  did  not  wound 
him. 

"  I  suppose  they  have  the  same  immortal  souls, 
the  same  sins,  sorrows,  temptations,  under  their  home- 
spun, that  are  to  be  found  in  the  hearts  of  my  silk- 
clad  people, "  he  answered.  "  If  there  is  any  difference 
you  have  discovered  it,  not  I,  Father  Search." 

The  little  man  glared  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
resumed  "  I  have  not;  and  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  set 
yourself  right  on  the  question,  Brother  Bainbridge. " 
To  which  the  Doctor's  only  answer  was  a  smile;  and 
the  little  man  went  on — "  Well,  when  I  heard  how 
badly  they  wanted  to  see  me,  I  regarded  that  as  a 
distinct  call  of  God  to  give  them  the  chance,  and 
down  I  went,  without  further  notice.  It  was  the 
night  that  a  public  meeting  was  called  in  the  school- 
house  to  take  means  to  prevent  Father  Search  from 
speaking  in  that  settlement.  The  room  was  packed 
and  there  was  a  pretty  strong  current  of  feeling,  and 
it  was  all  one  way.  It  is  not  often  in  a  man's  life 
that  he  has  an  opportunity  of  listening  to  such  a 
hearty  and  unanimous  opinion  of  himself  as  I  heard 
that  night.  But  there  was  no  one  there  that  could 
make  a  speech  to  the  crowd,  and,  after  two  or  three 
had  gotten  up,  and  cursed  me  in  pretty  tame  sort  of 
speech,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  had  in  the  way 
of  a  speech  to  keep  the  pot  boiling.  So  I  called  out 
'Boys  give  me  a  chance  and  I'll  give  you  a  talk  on 
Search,  I  know  him,  like  a  book,  and  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  him. '  The  cry  was  raised  'give  the  little  sucker 
a  chance' — 'Hand  him  over '  shouted  a  tall  fellow  in 


n6  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

front,  and,  the  aisles  being  jammed,  they  picked  me 
up  bodily  and  passed  me  along  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  the  last  man  set  me  on  the  desk ;  then  there  was 
a  cheer  and  cries  of  'Go  it  little  un' ! '  'Light  onto 
him,'  'Give  him  rats.'  When  the  noise  lulled  a  bit, 
I  began.  You  want  me  to  tell  you  about  Thomas 
F.  Search,  boys.  I  will  begin  by  saying  that  I 
have  an  opinion  of  that  man  so  mean,  so  small,  so 
contemptible  that  I  don't  regard  him  as  worth  five 
minutes  talk.  Here  came  shouts  of  'Go  on' — 
'Drive  ahead.'  Well,  if  you  want  to  hear  about 
him,  here  goes.  You  may  know  a  man  best  by  the 
business  he  goes  into.  It  takes  a  fine  pattern  of 
a  man  to  be  a  lumber-man.  He  must  know  how 
to  swing  the  axe  with  a  sturdy  blow,  to  make  the 
chips  fly  clean  and  clear,  to  leave  a  smooth  and  even 
cut  on  the  lumber  he  fells.  He  must  be  able  and 
willing  to  live  a  rough  life  and  not  growl  at  the  hard 
fare  that  he  has  to  eat.  He  must  be  a  clear-headed, 
sure-footed,  brave-hearted  man  to  drive  logs,  to  go 
out  on  a  jam  and  know  where  to  cut  and  when  to 
stand  his  ground.  He  must  have  all  his  wits  about 
him.  It  takes  a  fine  pattern  of  a  man  to  be  a  lum- 
berman. Then  they  cheered  me  finely.  But  what 
about  this  Search.  He  is  not  to  be  named  in  the 
same  breath  with  such  a  man.  What  is  his  business  ? 
Running  round  the  country,  sticking  his  nose  in  other 
people's  business,  telling  these  splendid  fellows  that 
they  must  not  have  their  dram  of  whiskey  to  com- 
fort them  on  a  cold  day,  to  cheer  them  up  when  they 
are  tired,  to  make  them  sociable  when  a  few  of  them 
are  gathered  for  a  little  frolic.     What  do  you  say  to 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  117 

such  a  man  as  that?  I  leave  you  to  imagine  the 
howls  of  derision  and  the  curses,  which  were  their 
answer  to  this. 

"  And  what  in  the  world,  my  friends,  can  this  man 
mean  by  making  himself  this  kind  of  a  public  nui- 
sance ?  I  suppose  he  must  have  some  reason  for  it. 
Perhaps  he  has  heard  a  story  of  some  brave  fellow, 
clear  of  head  and  strong  of  limb,  going  out  on  one 
of  the  lumber  jams  to  break  it  up  and,  though  he  had 
been  for  many  a  long  day  the  leader  of  the  gang  that 
drove  the  logs,  yet  this  time  he  was  lost,  and  the 
story  ran  that  the  reason  was  that  he  had  taken  a 
drop  too  much.  (You  see  this  happened  only  two 
weeks  ago.)  Then  I  went  on  and  pictured  the 
widow  and  five  little  children  left  penniless,  to  mourn 
that  the  husband  and  father,  the  bread-winner  was 
gone,  only  because  he  had  taken  that  drop  too 
much.  I  tell  you,  brethren,  there  was  scarcely  a 
dry  eye  in  that  room,  and  those  who  were  not  weep- 
ing looked  as  scared  as  if  a  thunder-bolt  had  struck 
the  school-house.  Then  I  went  on  'Well,  if  old 
Search  hears  such  stories  and  believes  that  they're 
true,  no  wonder  he  carries  on  so ;  but  we  know  bet- 
ter. '  'It  is  true,  every  cruel  word  of  it  is  true  '  wailed 
a  woman  from  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  I  tell 
you,  Brethren,  that  woman's  voice  made  my  blood 
run  cold. 

"  Is  that  true?  I  asked  of  a  great,  stalwart  fellow 
in  front,  who  had  been  loudest  in  cursing  me.  'Yes, 
stranger'  he  said  solemnly,  'that's gospel  truth. '  Well 
I  heard  it  and  I  came  down  hereto  find  out  all  about 
it,  and  I  have  a  subscription  that  I  have  been  collect- 


Il8  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

ing for  his  widow;  and  I'm  Father  Search;  now  what 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it? 

"God  bless  you!  said  a  dozen  or  more  voices, 
and,  Brethren,  before  I  left  the  school-house,  every 
man  there  had  signed  the  pledge,  and  that  settlement 
is  a  temperance  town  to-day  "  and  the  little  man's 
eyes  gleamed  as  he  said  it. 

"Well,  my  brother"  said  Dr.  Bainbridge,  "I  con- 
gratulate you.  That  is  more  than  I  can  do  with  my 
people  clad  in  silks  and  satins." 

As  they  rode  on,  up  the  banks  of  the  winding  river, 
now  slowly  climbing  a  hill  that  overlooked  fertile 
flatlands  and  again  passing  through  groves  of  oak 
and  chestnut  they  came  to  a  field  where  three  fine 
chestnut  trees  had  been  left  standing,  and  their 
spreading  branches  bending  down  low  were  laden 
from  top  to  bottom  with  the  open  burrs  full  of  the 
merry  brown  nuts.  One  of  the  party  (which  one  was, 
ever  after,  matter  of  dispute)  suggested  that  they 
should  call  a  halt,  fill  their  pockets  with  the  abundant 
fruit  and  provide  a  perpetual  feast  for  the  rest  of  the 
drive.  No  sooner  said  than  done;  and  soon  sticks 
and  stones  were  flying  and  the  showers  of  nuts  were 
falling. 

But  good  Henry  Wurtz,  alone  of  all  the  party,  lin- 
gered on  the  outside  of  the  fence.  With  firm  but 
gentle  remonstrance  he  recalled  his  erring  brethren, 
and  bid  them  remember  that  the  fruit  was  not  theirs 
to  gather.  But,  when,  at  some  more  effective  cast 
of  a  club,  there  fell  a  golden  shower  of  nuts,  then  he 
broke  the  restraints  of  conscience,  bounded  over  the 
fence,  and  soon  had  his  pockets  as  full  as  any  of  the 


A   HILLSIDE   PARISH.  1 19 

others.  But  scarce  had  the  good  brother  been  fairly 
trapped  into  the  felonious  business,  when  a  shout 
came  from  the  far-away  farm  house  down  the  hillside, 
and  up  came  the  angry  farmer. 

"  What  are  ye  doin',  stealin'  my  nuts  ?"  he  shouted 
as  he  hurried  on  toward  the  group. 

"  There !"  said  the  good  brother,  dolorously,  "  what 
did  I  tell  you  brethren?  This  is  nothing  less  than 
robbery." 

"  My  good  man,"  said  Dr.  Bainbridge,  "  we  did  not 
mean  to  trespass  on  your  rights.  There  was  such  an 
abundance  of  chestnut  trees  all  along  the  road,  that 
we  thought  they  could  not  be  gathered  and  that  to  fill 
our  pockets  from  this  one  was  no  harm;  but  we  will 
cheerfully  hand  you  over  all  that  we  have  gathered, 
and  apologize  for  the  trespass  on  your  land." 

"Well,  who  be  ye,  anyway?  I  can't  quite  make 
you  out"  said  the  farmer,  mollified  by  the  Doctor's 
quiet  tone. 

"  We  are  Presbyterian  Ministers  on  the  way  to  Pres- 
bytery meeting  "  said  the  Doctor  quizzically ;  while 
poor  Henry  Wurtz  groaned  inly,  at  the  thought  of 
how  his  cloth  was  degraded,  and  fingered  a  tract  in 
his  pocket;  but  was  ashamed  to  hand  it  to  the  farmer 
under  such  circumstances. 

"Well,  it  is  as  you  say,"  said  the  farmer.  "We 
don't  gather  one  half  o'  the  chestnuts  on  the  place 
and  you're  heartily  welcome  to  all  you've  got,  and 
there's  no  harm  done  at  all.  I  only  felt  like  makin' 
a  fuss  because  I  had  given  these  three  trees  to  my 
little  gal,  becus  they  was  easy  to  git  at;  and  she  hes 
the  money  fur  her  own,  that  she  kin  make  by  sellin' 


120  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

of  the  nuts.  That  was  all;  but  'tain'tno  count;  for 
the  boys  kin  go  to  the  woods  and  make  it  up  to  her; 
and  I'm  sure  you're  welcome  to  all  you  kin  get." 
He  would  not  listen  to  their  proposal  to  disgorge  the 
nuts,  nor  take  any  payment.  But  Dinsmore  went 
round  to  each  one  and  collected  a  quarter  and  put- 
ting them  in  a  hollow  of  the  tree,  laid  a  stone  over 
the  hole  and  told  the  farmer  to  tell  his  little  girl  to 
look  there  for  a  part  of  her  crop  of  chestnuts.  The 
farmer  urged  them  to  come  back  to  the  house  and 
wait  for  dinner,  but  this  they  could  not  do;  and  so 
they  parted,  with  mutual  good  will,  and  the  minis- 
ters were  merry  over  their  adventure;  all  save  the 
good  brother  Henry.  His  conscience  forbade  him 
to  enjoy  the  nuts,  which  the  rest  ate  with  relish,  nor 
were  his  pangs  of  conscience  appeased  by  Dr.  Bain- 
bridge  and  Dinsmore,  who  twitted  him  over  the  affair. 

"  We  went  into  it  with  clear  consciences  albeit  they 
may  have  been  blinded  by  our  desire  "  said  the  Doc- 
tor; "but  you  let  your  desires  get  the  better  of  your 
awakened  convictions." 

"  And  I  made  full  amends,  by  the  payment  of  ten- 
fold the  value  of  the  nuts  that  we  had  taken,"  said 
Dinsmore. 

"Ah!  brethren  you  may  make  light  of  it;  but  we 
have  sinned  in  this  matter,  all  of  us;  and  I  have 
grace  given  me  to  see  and  repent  of  it,"  said  Henry 
Wurtz,  dolefully;  seeming  to  derive  small  comfort 
from  his  repentance,  while  the  others  were  very  jolly 
sinners  indeed.  And  so  they  journeyed  on,  cracking 
the  nuts  and  their  jokes. 

At  the  Presbytery  meeting,  beside  the  routine  of 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  121 

business,  there  was  a  very  warm  and  earnest  debate 
on  the  appropriation  from  the  Home  Missionary  fund 
toward  the  salary  of  Father  Whiton,  whose  ministry 
of  many  years  to  the  outlying  village  of  Smugtown 
had  produced  no  result  other  than  to  gather  a  dozen 
or  more  sleepy  auditors.  There  was  no  life  in  the 
place,  nor  was  there  ever  likely  to  be,  and  the  main- 
tenance of  a  church  organization  there  seemed  a 
fruitless  waste  of  money  that  might  be  used  to  es- 
tablish, in  some  growing  Western  town,  a  church 
that  would  be  living  and  would  become  self  sustain- 
ing. This  was  the  view  that  Dinsmore  took,  as  a 
member  of  the  Committee,  and  on  him  devolved  the 
duty  to  make  the  motion  that  Smugtown  should  cease 
to  be  as  a  church  and  be  annexed  to  Father  Whiton's 
charge  as  a  preaching  station,  leaving  the  people  to 
remunerate  the  preacher  according  to  their  estimate 
of  his  ability  and  appreciation  of  his  services. 

But  the  old  man  was  inclined  to  do  battle  for"  the 
bruised  reed"  as  he  called  this  feeble  parish;  and 
pleaded  that  his  necessities  were  such  that  he  needed 
this  supplement  to  his  salary. 

Now  Father  Whiton's  wife  was  reported  to  be  well 
to  the  fore  in  the  matter  of  this  world's  goods.  The 
old  man  was  tall  and  florid,  with  scant  locks  that 
were  snow-white,  and  of  very  deliberate  speech,  in  a 
low  monotone,  and  had  a  curious  fashion  of  cocking 
his  head  on  one  side,  closing  his  left  eye,  and  hardly 
opening  his  lips  as  he  murmured  his  speech. 

His  feeble,  deliberate  mode  of  speaking  was  irri- 
tating in  the  extreme  to  the  nervous,  little  temper- 
ance lecturer,  who  was  alive  in  every  fibre;  and  it 


122  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

was  a  call  to  battle  for  Father  Search  whenever  his 
fellow  patriarch  of  the  Presbytery  rose  to  his  feet. 
When  therefore  the  old  man  pleaded  slowly  and 
faintly  for  his  perishing  little  flock  in  tones  that 
seemed  to  reflect  their  dying  condition,  his  traditional 
foe  grew  restless,  and  watched  for  the  point  of  attack. 

"  I  leave  the  question  therefore  with  you,  my  breth- 
ren," said  Father  Whiton;  "believing  that  you  will 
recognize  the  spiritual  need  of  the  church  and  that 
you  will  not  altogether  ignore  my  own  temporal  ne- 
cessities." 

"  Did  I  understand  the  brother  to  refer  to  his  own 
necessities,  with  that  new  carriage-robe  that  covered 
his  lap,  that  glistening  new  buggy  in  which  he  rode, 
and  that  high-stepping  nag  that  brought  him  over  to 
Presbytery,"  said  the  keen,  little  Father  Search. 
"  If  necessities  was  the  word  that  he  used,  I  think  it 
about  time  that  he  shall  give  us  his  definition  of  the 
term." 

"  These  trifles  which  the  brother  refers  to  are  the 
property  of  my  wife;  but,  brethren,  she  has  her 
limits,  and,  when  these  are  reached,  I  have  thought 
it  prudent  to  refrain  from  urging  little  matters  of 
daily  necessity  upon  her  attention,"  he  said  it  slowly, 
and  with  a  pathetic  spreading  out  of  the  palms,  and 
Dinsmore  was  touched  at  his  helpless  position.  He 
knew  what  merciless  raillery  from  Father  Search  such 
a  situation  would  invite,  and  he  wanted  to  shield  the 
old  man.  "We'll  endeavor  to  lose  the  old  lady's 
grip  on  the  purse-string"  Father  Search  muttered; 
but  before  he  could  uncross  his  legs,  Dinsmore  was 
on  his  feet,  and,  having  the  floor,  moved  that  this 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  1 23 

question  be  referred  with  power  to  the  Committee  on 
Home  Missions,  having  in  his  mind  a  plan  to  soften 
the  blow  to  the  old  minister.  Father  Search  made 
an  effort  to  debate  the  question,  but  Dinsmore  held 
him  firmly  to  the  point  and  carried  his  motion,  with 
one  dissenting  vote. 


CHAPTER   X. 

' '  T    HEAR  that  the  summer  boarders  hev'  begun  to 

1  come  to  the  hotel,"  said  Mother  Livingston,  as 
Dinsmore  sat  on  her  porch,  one  fine  evening. 

"Yes!  there  is  a  young  fellow  here  who,  I  am 
afraid,  is  far  gone  in  consumption;  his  cough  is  not 
so  bad,  but  he  is  wasted,  and  his  hands  have  that 
transparency  that  seems  to  me  a  very  bad  sign." 

Then  there  was  a  pause. 

"I  didn't  know  anything  about  the  young  man," 
resumed  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  but  on  Sunday  I  saw  a 
bunnit  in  the  congregation  that  I  know'd  wa'n'tmade 
outside  of  the  city;  and  Wednesday  evenin'  after 
prayer-meetin',  where  I  couldn't  get  because  my 
rheumatiz'  was  so  bad,  Adaline  Morse,  the  milliner, 
dropped  in,  and  I  asked  her  '  whose  was  that  bunnit;' 
and  she  said  she  seen  it  at  prayer  meetin',  and  kept 
her  eye  on  it  as  it  went  out,  and  sort  a-lingered  along 
and  saw  that  she  was  a  summer  boarder  at  the 
hotel." 

The  old  lady  did  not  add  that  the  wearer  of  the 
bonnet  had  waited  for  Dinsmore  to  escort  her  from 
the  prayer-meeting;  nor  did  he  volunteer  the  unnec- 
essary information. 

"Oh!  that  was  Mrs.  Keene,"  he  said.  Again  there 
was  a  pause. 

124 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  125 

"Is  she  goin'  to  spend  some  time  here?"  queried 
the  old  lady. 

"I  believe  so,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"Any  of  her  folks  with  her?"  persisted  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston. 

"No  one,  but  herself,"  his  answers  were  so  brief 
that,  but  for  the  tone  of  his  voice,  they  would  have 
been  curt. 

"  Is  she  a  married  woman,  or  single?"  asked  Mrs. 
Livingston. 

"She  is  married  or  has  been,  at  least;"  he  stum- 
bled over  this  sentence. 

"She's  a  widow,  then,  I  suppose,"  said  his  tor- 
mentor, for  by  this  time  she  seemed  so. 

"Well,  no.  That  is  I  don't  exactly  know,  but  I 
believe  she  is  not  living  with  her  husband." 

"Humph!"  was  Mrs.  Livingston's  reply  to  this, 
which  incited  Henry  to  further  explanation. 

"She  seems  to  be  a  very  lovely  woman,  and  has 
shown  a  great  interest  in  my  work  here,  and  I  am  sure 
whatever  her  history  is,  that  she  is  not  to  blame;  for 
a  husband  who  could  be  untrue  or  unkind  to  such  a 
woman  must  be  a  brute."  He  paused;  here  he  was, 
after  only  a  week's  acquaintance,  acting  as  champion 
and  defender  of  this  charming  divorcee. 

To  this  warm  defence,  Mother  Livingston's  re- 
joinder was  "  Of  course  there  is  generally  more  fault 
on  one  side  than  on  the  other,  sometimes  it's  wholly 
on  one  side;  but  more  times  it's  about  equal.  Is 
she  goin' to  work  in  the  church,  while  she's  with  us?" 

"  I  do  not  know  "  answered  Henry.  "  I  presume 
that  she  will "  he  added,  though  it  seemed  rather  in- 


126  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

congruous  the  idea  of  this  brilliant,  witty,  well-read, 
fascinating  woman  teaching  in  the  Sunday  School, 
or  indeed  doing  any  other  work  than  that  which  she 
was  now  doing  so  well,  namely  encouraging  and  en- 
tertaining the  pastor  by  her  bright  talk  about  books 
and  society,  both  American  and  foreign,  giving  him 
a  rest  from  the  routine  work  of  his  country  parish. 

"  Well !  as  she  is  going  to  be  one  of  us  while  she's 
here,  I  think  I'll  make  it  my  business  to  call  on  her," 
said  the  old  lady. 

As  he  walked  homeward  Dinsmore  pondered  upon 
the  outcome  of  such  an  interview,  but  it  was  not  his 
province  to  help  or  hinder  it.  He  hoped  that  his 
name  would  not  be  brought  into  the  conversation  of 
this  ill-assorted  couple;  for  he  dreaded  the  thought 
of  the  impression  of  his  character  which  Mother  Liv- 
ingston might  impart  to  Mrs.  Keene;  nor  did  it 
please  him  to  think  of  what  Mrs.  Keene  might  say 
of  him  to  this  shrewd  old  "  mother  in  Israel." 

There  was  much  that  enlisted  his  interest  in  Mrs. 
Keene.  She  had  told  old  Mrs.  Hollis  something  of 
her  life's  sad  story,  and  Mrs.  Hollis  had  re-told  it  to 
Dinsmore.  It  seemed  so  out  of  place  that  one  as 
young  and  gifted  as  she,  with  such  an  earnest  and 
tender  nature  should  be  left,  with  the  grave  respon- 
sibility of  her  twelve  year  old  boy,  to  face  life  alone. 
If  death  had  robbed  her  of  her  natural  guardian  and 
protector,  that  would  have  been  sad  enough ;  but  she 
had  to  bear  the  bitterness  and  reproach  of  desertion. 
She  seemed,  too,  so  capable  of  loving,  so  worthy  of 
being  loved. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  she  said  to  him 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  127 

one  day,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  "  how  I  long 
for  some  one  to  counsel  me  in  regard  to  my  boy.  I 
want  him  to  be  a  man  true  and  noble,  scorning  mean- 
ness of  every  kind,  manly  and  brave;  but  how  can  a 
weak  woman  so  guide  and  mould  a  boy's  nature, 
that  he  shall  be  what  a  man  ought  to  be." 

"There  is  nothing  that  tells  on  a  boy's  character 
like  a  mother's  influence  if  she  be  such  a  mother  "he 
was  about  to  say — "as  you;"  but  he  thought  better 
of  it  and  concluded  "  as  some  of  the  noblest  and  best 
of  men  have  born  witness  have  moulded  all  their 
lives." 

"  That  may  be  true  in  early  life,  then  I  will  admit 
that  the  mother's  influence  is  formative;  but  as  the 
boy  grows  toward  manhood  he  shirks  his  mother's 
influence  and  needs  the  firm,  strong  hand,  the  wiser 
counsel  of  a  man,  from  whom  he  is  content  to  learn 
the  lesson  of  how  to  be  a  man.  If  my  lot  in  life 
were  cast  here,  I  should  have  no  fear,  for  I  could 
turn  to  my  pastor,  whom  next  to  a  boy's  own  father, 
one  may  naturally  look  to  as  willing  to  exercise  a 
sort  of  paternal  control.  Could  you  not  write  me  a 
set  of  rules  by  which,  when  I  am  among  strangers, 
with  no  one  to  look  to,  I  might  guide  my  boy  to  be 
such  a  man  as  you  are."  She  leaned  toward  him, 
her  voice,  low  and  soft,  was  a  very  pathetic  plea, 
enforced  by  her  moistened  eyes;  and,  in  the  inten- 
sity of  her  feeling,  she  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his 
arm.  She  watched  the  effect  of  this  upon  the  young 
pastor.  He  did  not  move,  nor  was  there  the  slight- 
est sign  that  he  was  conscious  of  her  touch. 

Dinsmore  was  absorbed  in  thinking  of  her  hapless 


128  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

position,  and  anxious  to  be  of  real  use  to  her,  he  was 
also  too  much  embarrassed  by  her  allusion  to  himself 
to  have  the  fitting  answer  ready  at  the  moment ;  and 
yet  he  felt  her  touch  and  acknowledged  it  by  a  cer- 
tain thrill,  which  made  it  harder  still  to  make  a 
suitable  reply  to  her  appeal. 

"  As  the  responsibilities  of  life  are  laid  upon  us, 
wisdom  and  grace  are  given  us  to  meet  them,"  he 
said,  taking  refuge  in  a  vague  generality. 

"Ah!  yes,  wisdom,  if  we  only  know  how  to  apply 
it  to  each  case  as  it  arises,"  she  answered  in  a  sad 
and  dreary  voice. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  She  toyed  with  the 
leaves  of  the  book  that  lay  in  her  lap  and  watched 
Dinsmore  as  he  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  line 
of  blue  hills  that  bounded  the  southern  horizon. 

He  started  as  she  leaned  forward  and  picked  a 
thread  from  his  coat  sleeve;  he  remembered  how 
much  meaning  some  attribute  to  such  an  action  on  a 
woman's  part. 

"  I  wonder  how  you  would  solve  the  problem  of 
life  as  it  lies  between  the  covers  of  this  book;  how 
much  you  would  find  true,  how  much  false,  and  how 
much  a  matter  of  indifference  ?  I  have  thought  of 
you,  all  along,  as  I  read,"  she  continued. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  very  little  would  seem  a 
matter  of  indifference,"  he  answered,  "unless  it  were 
so  untrue  to  life  that  it  was  unworthy  of  notice.  To 
me  things  rank  themselves  always  as  true  or  false; 
if  they  make  any  impression  on  me." 

Then  she  sketched  the  outline  of  the  story  for  him; 
one  of  those  pictures  of  love,  so  called,  which  is  but 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  129 

the  basest  counterfeit  of  the  affections;  and  closed 
her  analysis  of  the  story  with  the  question  "  How  do 
you  think  we  would  have  worked  out  that  situation?" 

"  Unless  I  had  lost  all  my  senses,  I  would  never 
have  gotten  myself  in  any  such  situation.  I  abhor  a 
man  who  looks  on  women  as  subjects  of  conquest; 
and  regards  them  as  able  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
putting  them  on  the  defensive.  Every  true  gentle- 
man ought  to  make  a  woman  feel  that  in  his  company, 
under  any  circumstances,  she  is  safe.  There  was  a 
time  when  gentlemen  regarded  themselves  as  the  de- 
fenders of  women,"  he  spoke  rapidly  and  with  ear- 
nestness of  tone. 

She  smiled  and  commended  the  chivalrous  tone 
which  he  assumed.  "  But  was  it  always  so,  my  young 
knight-errant?  I  have  heard  that  those  young  stu- 
dents in  the  city's  schools  are  '  sad  dogs;'  that  they 
work  havoc  with  the  hearts  of  the  girls,  and  do  not 
despise  any  game  that  comes  within  their  range. 
They  make  some  of  their  conquests  over  the  counters 
of  the  shops — make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  I  know 
how  kind  you  are  to  these  country  girls.  There  is 
that  little  Mary  Lowther ;  you  have  generously  spared 
her,  and  I  commend  you  for  it.  If  she  had  only  had 
some  advantages  of  good  society,  she  would  be 
charming  game,  quite  worth  your  while.  She  has 
pretty,  rustic  manners,  she  is  intelligent  and  well 
read,  she  seems  like  a  sincere,  good  girl,  with  a  sweet 
disposition." 

Under  this  rdsumt  of  Mary  Lowther's  character 
Dinsmore  winced;  he  was  ill  at  ease,  and  would  have 
resented  it,  if  there  had  been  anything  that  he  could 

Q 


130  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

have  laid  hold  upon.  Mrs.  Keene  watched  him  and 
a  pleased  little  smile  nestled  in  the  corners  of  her 
mouth. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  break  that  pure,  little 
heart,  while  I  am  on  hand,"  she  continued.  "But 
no,  I  will  not  do  you  the  injustice  to  assume  that  you 
will  cease  to  be  merciful,  as  you  have  been.  But  tell 
me,  truly,  have  you  always  been  so  kind  to  women 
as  you  are  now  ?"  and  she  laughed  lightly,  and  waited 
for  his  answer. 

He  was  all  on  edge;  but  he  did  not  want  to  let 
her  see  how  angry  he  was. 

"  I  have  never  looked  on  women  from  the  point  of 
view  that  you  assume  that  all  men  take.  It  may  be 
that  it  is  a  common  one;  but  in  my  set  of  acquaint- 
ances there  was  no  one  that  took  such  a  view.  I 
may  have  been  unusually  fortunate;  and  yet  I  must 
say  that  my  experience  is  that  such  rakes  as  that 
story  pictures,  are  not  common  among  American  gen- 
tlemen; and,  when  they  are  found  out,  they  are 
given  the  cold  shoulder." 

She  smiled  again  at  the  hot  words  with  which  he 
scorned  the  picture  which  the  realistic  Russian  had 
drawn  of  human  nature. 

"You  cannot  always  live  in  Arcady,"  she  said; 
"  some  call  will  come  to  a  'wider  field  of  usefulness. ' 
I  think  that  is  the  usual  term  for  a  larger  salary,  is 
it  not?  When  some  city  churchmen  wander  up  this 
way  and  hear  you  preach,  you  will  be  called  away  to 
be  in  nearer  touch  with  the  great  world,  and  may 
see  men  and  women  from  another  point  of  view." 

He  rose  to  go  to  his  study.     The  two-seated  buck- 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  131 

board  belonging  to  Judge  Lowther  was  coming  along 
the  Main  Street,  with  the  brisk  pace  at  which  the 
pair  of  Morgan  horses  always  stepped,  with  Mary 
Lowther  in  the  back  seat.  She  was  coming  to  take 
Mrs.  Keene  for  a  drive;  who  had  brought  a  letter  of 
introduction  from  her  counsel  in  the  city  to  Judge 
Lowther. 

He  had  called  upon  her  more  than  once,  and  she 
had  fascinated  him  with  her  gracious  manner  and  her 
easy  conversation. 

"  Upon  my  honor,  Mary  "  he  had  said,  in  his  pom- 
pous fashion,  after  his  first  call,  "  there  is  a  woman 
who  might  well  beguile  a  man  of  sober  years  to  think 
on  matrimony,  for  the  second,  or  even  the  third 
time." 

And  when  this  first  visit  had  been  followed  up  by 
a  second  and  a  third,  within  a  fortnight,  the  inter- 
ested observers  of  village  life  and  conduct,  sometimes 
called  gossips,  had  begun  to  whisper  that  the  Judge 
was  "keeping  company  with  the  city  widow." 

At  all  events,  he  had  insisted  upon  having  her  there 
to  tea,  on  the  score  of  courtesy  to  the  "  learned 
counsel  "  who  had  commended  her  to  his  kind  offices. 
Moreover  he  had  offered  her  the  use  of  his  horses, 
and  Mary's  services  as  cicerone,  to  show  her  some- 
thing of  the  beauties  of  their  drives  over  the  hills 
and  through  the  valleys  surrounding  Clintonville. 

It  was  the  first  of  these  engagements  to  drive  that 
Mary  Lowther  was  coming  to  fulfil ;  and  it  cut  short 
this  conversation. 

Mrs.  Keene  rose  to  meet  her  as  she  jumped  from 
the  buckboard  and  came  bounding  up  the  steps  of 


132  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

the  house,  her  eyes  aglow  and  her  cheeks  flushed 
with  the  fresh,  mountain  air. 

No  one  could  resist  her  smile  nor  fail  to  answer 
with  anything  less  than  a  genial  smile  to  her  laugh- 
ing eye. 

Dinsmore  did  not  wait  to  see  the  meeting  of  these 
two;  but  retired  to  his  study.  His  windows  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  Main  Street  of  the  village,  for 
a  half  mile  or  more.  He  stood  at  the  window  and 
watched  them  as  they  drove  away;  there  was  a  va- 
cant seat  in  the  buckboard.  He  might  have  been 
in  it  just  as  well  as  not;  but,  if  he  had  been,  would 
it  have  been  a  comfortable  seat? 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  he  turned  to  begin 
work  on  his  sermon  for  the  coming  Sabbath.  He 
had  already  chosen  the  text  and  made  some  notes 
from  which  to  write.  The  text  was  "  For  love  is  of 
God  and  cannot  fail." 

He  sat  musing,  with  his  head  resting  in  his  hand. 
He  read  over  the  text,  and  then  there  floated  before 
his  mind  the  image  of  Mrs.  Keene  and  Mary  Low- 
ther;  and  he  wondered  how  each  of  them  would  look 
at  the  proposition  of  the  text.  He  reviewed  his  talk 
with  Mrs.  Keene.  How  out  of  touch  all  her  thoughts 
of  love  were  with  the  opening  clause  of  his  text. 
Such  love  as  she  recognized  was  certainly  not  of  God. 

In  her  view  love  was  of  man,  on  his  lowest  side. 
How  was  it  with  Mary  Lowther?  It  was  strange; 
he  had  known  her  much  longer,  they  had  been  as- 
sociated in  community  of  interest,  in  work  that  was 
a  bond  between  them,  but  they  had  never  spoken  of 
love;  and  yet  with  Mrs.  Keene,  after  a  week's  ac- 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  I  $3 

quaintance,  he  had  been  led  into  a  discussion  that 
implied  an  intimacy  between  them  far  closer  than 
he  would  care  to  acknowledge,  even  to  himself. 

She  had  touched  upon  questions  of  a  delicate  na- 
ture, with  an  ease  and  fluency  that  startled  him. 

He  spent  more  time  in  trying  to  solve  the  question 
whether  he  had  led  her  into  this  style  of  conversation 
or  whether  she  had  led  him,  than  he  did  upon  his 
sermon.  When  the  afternoon  was  waning  he  had 
nothing,  as  the  result  of  his  cogitations,  but  an  empty 
sheet  of  paper,  an  unsolved  riddle,  and  an  uneasy 
consciousness  that  he  had  been  led  into  the  meshes 
of  a  net. 


CHAPTER   XL 

AS  the  Morgan  horses  rattled  a  long  the  main 
street,  Mary  directed  the  driver  to  turn  down 
the  road  to  Pleasant  Pond.  "  It  is  one  of  our  pret- 
tiest drives"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Keene  "  and  a  favorite 
of  mine  because  the  road  runs  along  the  ridge  and, 
on  either  side,  the  hollows  are  so  picturesque, 
Scooper's  Hollow  with  its  rude  hamlet,  and  on  the 
other  side  the  Willowemoc  like  a  silver  thread,  here 
and  there,  among  the  dark  firs." 

"I  have  heard  Mr.  Dinsmore  talk  of  Scooper's 
Hollow.  He  has  a  very  interesting  mission  there  I 
think  "  said  Mrs.  Keene,  smiling  as  she  saw  Mary's 
color  rise. 

"Yes,  it  is  very  interesting;  one  feels  that  such 
teaching  is  sowing  on  virgin  soil,"  added  Mary. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  that  is  what  I  fancied  Mr.  Dinsmore 
felt.  A  young  man  is  apt  to  find  that  sort  of  sow- 
ing, ploughing,  and  reaping  wholly  to  his  taste,"  and 
she  laughed  softly,  but  not  sweetly,  Mary  thought. 
"  But  what  will  the  harvest  be  "  Mrs.  Keene  added, 
singing  the  refrain  of  the  popular  hymn,  in  a  light 
bantering  way,  like  an  air  from  the  opera. 

Mary  did  not  know  what  to  answer;  it  grated  on 
her  and  perplexed  her.  She  was  on  the  point  of  say- 
ing "A  harvest  of  souls;"  and  yet  instinctively  felt 
134 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  135 

that  this  would  bring  out  a  further  remark  from  Mrs. 
Keene  that  would  have  the  form  of  sincerity  and  the 
spirit  of  banter. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  launched 
into  a  description  of  their  first  experience  with  the 
Scooper  Children. 

Mrs.  Keene  listened  with  an  amused  smile. 

"How  delightful,"  she  said  as  Mary  finished  the 
rapid  and  somewhat  confused  account,  "  It  is  really 
a  romance,  like  gathering  a  posy  of  wild  flowers. 
Do  you  know,  I  should  like  above  all  things,  to  meet 
this  old  witch  woman  and  let  her  tell  me  some  of  her 
tales.  Fortune  has  not  smiled  on  me;"  her  voice 
grew  soft  and  tender;  "  I  have  made  one  dear  friend 
since  I  have  come  to  your  beautiful  mountain  village. 
I  am  better  here  than  I  was  in  the  noisy,  gay  world. 
The  nearness  to  nature  has  made  my  heart  simpler 
and  truer,  I  hope;  and  the  quiet  of  this  simple  vil- 
lage, has  healed  the  wounds  which  I  have  gotten  in 
the  battle  of  life.  I  think  this  has  made  me  appre- 
ciate how  good  and  true  Mr.  Dinsmore  is.  I  lean 
on  him  more  and  more  every  day.  But,  my  dear, 
minister  though  he  be,  he  is  still  a  man  and  we  can- 
not come  too  near  one  another  without  danger  to  us 
both.  As  a  young  girl,  you  cannot  appreciate  this 
as  I  do ;  but  a  woman  that  knows  the  world,  knows 
that  between  a  man  and  woman  there  cannot  be  too 
close  a  friendship  without  danger  to  one,  perhaps  to 
both.  I  have  begun  to  feel  that  I  must  be  careful 
in  my  association  with  Mr.  Dinsmore;  of  all  women, 
one  in  my  position  needs  a  woman  friend." 

She  paused  for  a  reply;  but  Mary  was  at  a  loss 


136  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

what  to  answer.  "Won't  you  let  me  call  you  my 
friend?"  she  said,  and  laid  her  hand  on  Mary's.  "I 
could  pour  out  my  heart  to  you,  and  know  that  you 
would  sympathize  with  me." 

"I  could  do  nothing  for  you,  Mrs.  Keene, "  Mary 
answered,  confused  and  yet  flattered  that  this  woman 
of  the  world  should  lean  on  her.  "  I  have  lived  the 
quiet,  simple  life  of  a  country  girl,  in  this  little  vil- 
lage, and  have  neither  the  wisdom  of  age  nor  of  ex- 
perience." 

"Ah!  my  child,  it  is  not  that  sort  of  help  I  need; 
but  that  of  a  heart  fresh  and  young  as  yours  is,  the 
help  of  truth  and  goodness,  the  contact  with  a  heart 
and  life  unspotted  by  the  world.  I  come  to  you  as 
I  come  to  your  mountain  home,  with  its  air  pure  and 
untainted  with  the  miasma  of  the  town. "  She  leaned 
her  head  on  Mary's  shoulder.  "  Child,  let  me  love 
you,  and  love  me;"  her  eyes  looked  full  of  unshed 
tears,  and  Mary  felt  that  she  would  give  that  wounded, 
weary  heart  all  the  love  she  asked  for. 

They  drove  on  for  half  a  mile  in  silence,  Mrs. 
Keene  leaning  still  on  Mary's  shoulder  and  her  eyes, 
in  dreamy  reverie,  resting  on  the  lovely  landscape, 
as  it  lay  on  either  side  of  them  glorified  with  the 
June  sunlight. 

"  Your  life  runs  in  a  soft,  even  current"  she  said 
as  she  sat  upright  again  "  and  yet  it  would  be  mo- 
notonous enough  if  you  had  only  these  plain  people 
about  you.  You  must  find  much  of  your  diversion 
among  books  and  with  your  music,  do  you  not?" 

"Oh!  yes,  I  am  occupied,  more  or  less,  every  day 
with   reading  and   practising:    but,    after  all,    Mrs. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  137 

Keene  these  dull  people  are  not  without  interest  when 
you  come  to  know  their  inner  life.  There  are  not 
so  many  of  them,  but  the  story  of  their  lives  is  very 
much  like  that  of  others  in  the  world,  I  think." 

"Ah!  you  have  been  taking  lessons  from  Mr.  Dins- 
more;  that  is  his  favorite  theme." 

How  Mary  hated  herself  as  the  color  flew  to  her 
face.  "  I  suppose  he  has  made  me  see  it  more  clearly  " 
she  said,  "but  I  think,  even  before  he  came,  I  felt  it 
in  some  degree." 

"He  has  a  wonderful  way  of  enlisting  one's  feel- 
ings in  what  interests  him.  He  has  fairly  captured 
me  and  made  me  feel  as  if  this  'Hillside  Parish'  as 
he  calls  it,  was  of  more  importance  than  any  other 
parish  in  the  country.  If  he  can  lay  hold  of  a 
stranger's  heart  in  this  way,  I  suppose  he  can  make 
you,  who  live  here,  enthusiasts  in  his  work." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  "  answered  Mary.  "  There  is  nothing 
I  love  better  than  to  work  with  him.  He  is  so  full 
of  life  and  real  earnestness;  he  has  so  many  new 
ideas,  and  whatever  he  undertakes  he  is  sure  to  carry 
through.  He  is  so  gentle  and  so  strong;  makes  you 
see  what  he  wants  you  to  do,  and  it  seems  so  well 
worth  doing." 

She  paused  as  she  noted  the  smile  on  Mrs.  Keene's 
lips.  She  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  one  of  pleas- 
ure or  amusement;  but  it  checked  the  free  flow  of 
her  speech. 

"You  do  him  barely  justice  Miss  Mary,"  Mrs. 
Keene  added,  after  a  short  pause,  "  He  is  all  that 
you  say,  and  more  too,  for  he  is  a  highly  cultured 
man,  of  fine  mind,  well  read,   and  able  to  hold  his 


138  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

own  in  a  very  much  higher  sphere  than  the  one  which 
he  now  occupies.  But  my  dear,  he  is  not  the  safest 
of  spiritual  advisers.  He  is  too  handsome,  too  sym- 
pathetic, too  engaging  in  every  way  for  us  poor 
women.  I  think  too  that  he  is  susceptible.  We  must 
keep  him  within  bounds;  you  and  I  can  teach  him 
some  things  of  which  he  may  stand  in  need;"  and  she 
laughed  and  patted  Mary  playfully  on  the  shoulder. 

It  was  very  discomfiting  to  Mary  to  be  forced  into 
this  partnership.  It  placed  her  in  a  relation  to  her 
pastor  which  she  was  loath  to  occupy.  She  resented 
it  in  thought,  but  did  not  know  with  what  words  to 
voice  this  resentment. 

"  I  always  think  of  Mr.  Dinsmore  as  our  minister, 
and  cannot  imagine  myself  trying  to  teach  him  "  she 
said. 

"Do  you?"  laughed  Mrs.  Keene.  "Ah!  little 
woman,  men  are  men,  whether  in  homespun  or 
broadcloth ;  and  we  are  women,  and  sooner  or  later 
we  find  each  other  out,  even  through  the  thickest 
disguises." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  believe,  and  I  do  not  believe, 
at  all,  that  Mr.  Dinsmore  thinks  of  anything  before 
his  work  "  broke  in  Mary,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
in  which  she  seemed  to  be  mustering  strength  to 
speak  her  mind  boldly.  "  If  you  knew  him  as  I  know 
him,  Mrs.  Keene,  in  the  work  of  the  parish,  you  would 
not  think  so." 

Mrs.  Keene  smiled.  "  I  must  admit,  my  dear, 
that  I  do  not  know  him  as  you  know  him.  That 
could  not  be  unless  I  were,  like  you,  a  fresh  young 
nature  unspotted  by  the  world.      But,  my  dear  girl, 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  139 

he  is,  after  all  said  and  done,  a  marriageable  young 
man,  and  he  knows  it." 

On  their  way  home,  they  stopped  to  visit  Old  Bar- 
bara Fisher.  The  old  dame  greeted  Mary  with  a 
smile;  but  when  Mrs.  Keene  stepped  forward,  her 
small,  blue  eyes  shrank  and  glittered  like  a  snake's 
in  the  intensity  with  which  she  looked  into  Mrs. 
Keene's  eyes.  She  gave  no  answer  to  her  greeting, 
and  under  her  fixed  and  silent  gaze,  Mrs.  Keene  was 
uneasy,  and  soon  ready  to  leave. 

After  his  vain  attempt  at  sermonizing,  Dinsmore 
came  out  on  the  balcony  and  watched,  in  listless 
mood,  the  road  down  which  the  buckboard  had  dis- 
appeared. On  the  steps  below  he  saw  Sidney  Keene. 
The  handsome  little  fellow,  like  himself,  had  been 
left  behind.  He  too  had  spent  the  last  quarter  of 
an  hour  sitting  on  the  steps  looking  down  the  road. 
But  his  gaze  was  not  so  fixed  as  Dinsmore's,  for, 
from  time  to  time,  he  looked  up  the  road,  in  undefined 
hope  that  he  might  see  something  suggestive  of  what 
to  do. 

Presently  he  ran  down  the  steps,  jumped  on  the 
gate,  and  swung  to  and  fro  vigorously,  making  a  few 
sounds,  half  war-cry,  half  hurrah,  such  as  none  but 
a  boy  can  make,  and  no  one  else  would  attempt. 
They  meant  nothing  except  that  he  was  a  boy  off 
duty  and  ready  for  anything  that  should  turn  up; 
and  they  broke  the  oppressive  silence  better  than 
whistling. 

Suddenly,  as  if  a  bright  thought  had  struck  him, 
he  threw  open  the  gate  and  ran  down  the  street, 
yelling  like  a  young  Indian.      Dinsmore  leaned  over 


140  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

the  balcony  to  see  what  had  fired  his  enthusiasm; 
there  was  not  a  sign  of  man  or  beast  on  the  broad 
street,  lying  still  under  the  June  sunshine.  It  was 
simply  the  intensity  of  physical  action  finding  vent; 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  so  he  did  that.  A  dog 
ran  out  from  under  a  porch  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  Sidney  picked  up  a  stone  and  threw  it  at 
the  dog  and  then  bent  over  as  he  watched  the  stone, 
with  his  eyes  and  mouth  screwed  up,  as  though  he 
was  afraid  that  he  might  hit  the  dog.  He  had 
thrown  the  stone  because  he  and  the  dog  and  the 
stone  were  there;  but  he  did  not  want  to  hit  the  dog. 
He  was  glad  that  the  stone  missed,  but  delighted  that 
it  fell  so  near  as  to  send  the  dog  on  a  gallop  up  the 
street.  As  the  dog  disappeared  around  the  first  cor- 
ner, he  turned  and  looked  intently  up  into  a  tree. 
There  was  nothing  there,  but  there  might  be.  Then 
he  whistled  with  a  long,  shrill  note,  then,  with  a  yell, 
broke  into  a  run,  and  rushing  into  the  yard  banging 
the  gate  behind  him,  sat  down  on  the  steps  again. 
He  had  done  something,  he  was,  for  the  time  being, 
content. 

As  Dinsmore  watched  him,  it  recalled  so  strongly 
the  physical  demand  of  boyhood  for  activity,  that  he 
too  felt  that  he  must  be  on  the  move,  and  leaning 
over  the  balcony,  he  called  to  Sidney  that  he  was 
ready  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  take  him  trout-fishing, 
if  he  wanted  to  go.  There  was  no  other  answer  to 
this  proposition  than  a  yell  of  delight,  as  he  came, 
like  a  whirlwind,  up  the  stairs. 

They  walked  off  the  genuine  and  fictitious  activity 
by  the  time  they  had  gotten  over  the  North  Moun- 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  14 1 

tain  to  the  Willowemoc,  the  Indian's  "  Noisy  Water;" 
well  named,  as  it  tumbled  around  and  down  the 
mountain's  base. 

As  they  came  out  of  the  stream  near  the  North 
settlement  with  a  nice  string  of  trout,  and  struck  the 
road  to  Clintonville,  they  were  in  sight  of  the  North 
grave-yard,  on  a  little  plateau  skirted  by  the  brawl- 
ing stream,  the  long  stretch  of  country  road  on  the 
other  side,  and  the  North  Mountain  rising  above  the 
sea  of  hemlocks  that  skirt  its  base.  There  is  a  low 
stone  wall  around  it,  and  at  the  entrance  a  sliding- 
gate,  hung  on  two  posts  with  a  beam  above,  such  as 
the  farmers  use  at  the  entrance  to  their  fields  or 
barn-yards. 

The  big  gate  was  padlocked,  but,  beside  it,  is  an 
open  stile,  leaving  the  yard  free  to  passers  on  foot 
to  come  or  go.  Dinsmore  and  Sidney  went  in,  and 
sat  down  to  rest. 

Far  down  on  the  water,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  the 
foam  drifted  lazily  around  the  bend  of  the  stream,  as 
clouds  and  distant  objects  seem  to  move;  for,  as  if 
in  courtesy  to  the  dead  that  rested  on  its  banks,  the 
"  Noisy  Water "  grew  still  as  it  rounded  the  rocky 
base  of  the  grave-yard  hill ;  and  the  white  foam,  with 
its  dreamy  motion,  seemed  the  counterpart  of  the 
clouds  that  floated  still  above  it. 

There  were  only  two  shafts,  one  over  the  grave  of 
a  soldier  who  died  in  the  din  of  1864;  another,  in- 
scribed simply  "Toothaker,"  surrounded  by  a  curb 
of  cut  granite.  On  this  curb,  Dinsmore  and  Sidney 
seated  themselves. 

Dinsmore  looked  at  the  shaft  in  the  centre  of  this 


142  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

plot  and  thought  if  there  had  been  a  "  ch  "  in  the 
last  syllable,  one  might  proclaim  a  pilgrimage  to  this 
spot  where  lies  the  evil  genius  that  puts  in  the  mouths 
of  men  the  grumbling  misery  that  steals  their  pa- 
tience. But  the  headstones  round  about  showed  that 
it  was  merely  the  grave  of  an  old  patriarch,  who 
rested  here,  surrounded  by  his  children,  grand-chil- 
dren, and  great-grand-children. 

He  had  been  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  had 
transmitted  his  name  to  many  descendants.  The 
other  side  of  the  shaft  revealed  him  as  the  Rev.  Ben- 
jamin Toothaker,  dying  at  the  ripe  age  of  seventy- 
two  years.  He  had  been  the  mortuary  poet  for  the 
numerous  households  of  his  descendants. 

On  one  side  of  the  tablets  of  this  family  were  usu- 
ally inscribed  simply  "Husband,"  "Father,"  "Wife," 
or  "Mother;"  which  mixed  the  genealogy,  from 
Dinsmore's  point  of  view. 

But  on  the  reverse  of  the  "  Toothaker  "  headstones 
there  was,  during  the  time  covered  by  the  old  min- 
isters abiding  in  the  flesh,  some  simple  verse.  One 
of  these,  a  variation  of  the  famous  "  Stop  careless 
friend  as  you  pass  by,"  read — 

"  Friend  pass  this  spot  at  a  slow  pace 
And  view  where  I  am  laid  to  rest, 
Far  from  the  anxious  care  and  toil 
Which  once  my  soul  oppressed." 

Another  could  lay  claim  to  originality — 

"  Dear  Mother  has  gone,  she  has  gone  to  her  rest 
Her  trials  on  earth  are  all  o'er 
We  have  smoothed  her  grey  locks,  the  last  kisses  prest 
She  needeth  our  care  no  more." 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  143 

Then  the  good  old  minister,  who  for  two  genera- 
tions had  gone  in  and  out  among  them,  baptized, 
married,  and  buried  the  people,  was  taken.  There 
was  doubtless  a  great  gathering  and  sore  lamentation 
as  they  bore  him  tenderly  to  the  grave-yard  among 
the  hills.  But  there  was  no  one  to  write  an  epitaph 
for  him  and,  after  his  departure,  no  verses  on  the 
tombs  of  his  descendants. 

The  rest  of  the  graves  had  no  inscription  other 
than  the  names.  One  was  marked  only  by  a  stake, 
on  which  was  nailed  a  cedar  board,  and  on  this,  in 
large  letters,  was  written  with  lead  pencil  (as  garden- 
ers mark  their  planted  seeds)  "  William  Bradford, " 
a  good  old  Mayflower  name.  There  was  an  Ameri- 
can Flag  on  this  and  on  several  other  graves,  and 
the  withered  flowers  of  Decoration  Day  lay  scattered 
about. 

There  were  many  graves  which  had  no  stone,  save 
those  of  which  the  soil  was  full,  which  made  a  mel- 
ancholy rattle  on  the  coffin's  of  those  buried  in  this 
"  God's  Acre." 

Among  the  branches  of  the  Toothaker  family  was 
one  full  row  of  Perkins;  whose  favorite  device  was  a 
hand  in  bas-relief,  with  the  thumb  and  three  fingers 
tightly  folded,  and  a  preternaturally  long  index  fin- 
ger pointing  upward — sometimes  with  the  legend 
"Heaven  is  my  home;"  sometimes  the  hand  alone, 
leaving  the  rest  to  the  imagination  of  the  passer  by, 
which  was  more  economical. 

As  Dinsmore  sat  reading  the  inscriptions,  or  watch- 
ing the  drifting  foam  down  on  the  stream,  or  the 
cloud  shadows  chasing  one  another  across  the  dis- 


144  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

tant  hill,  Sidney  suddenly  asked  "  What  are  those 
grave-stones,  Mr.  Dinsmore?" 

"  They  are  the  graves  of  Perkins"  he  answered, 
absently. 

"Why  do  they  bury  them  here"  asked  the  boy  in 
a  wondering  tone. 

"Because  they  died,"  replied  Dinsmore;  as  he 
read  some  more  of  the  inscriptions. 

"What  are  Perkins?"  asked  the  boy  in  a  per- 
plexed tone;  and  then  before  Dinsmore  could  reply, 
"Oh!  they  are  people"  he  said,  spelling  out  the 
name  of  one  Eli  Perkins. 

He  had  mistaken  them  for  some  nondescript, 
whether  of  the  animal  or  vegetable  kingdom  Dins- 
more did  not  enquire.  "How  much  of  a  history  like 
that  of  the  world  of  living  men  "  he  thought  "  one 
can  gather  from  a  country  grave-yard,  reading  be- 
tween the  lines  on  the  grave-stones,  matching  dates 
and  names,  as  the  children  do  in  their  zigzag  puz- 
zle; putting  together  the  picture  that  has  been  cut 
into  pieces.  I  wonder  how  nearly  I  have  matched 
this  picture  of  times  gone-by. " 

Then  they  picked  up  their  string  of  trout  and  set 
out  on  their  homeward  way, 


CHAPTER    XII. 

DURING  the  next  week,  the  young  Pastor  was 
initiated  into  one  of  the  important  ceremonies 
of  the  village,  namely  the  funeral  of  one  of  his  par- 
ishioners. 

Everybody  went  to  a  funeral  in  this  little  village; 
the  Academy  was  closed,  and  the  scholars  were  ex- 
pected to  use  the  half-holiday  in  attendance  at  the 
service;  an  expectation  not  always  fully  realized  in 
nutting  time,  or  when  the  trout  were  biting. 

The  coffin  was  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  parlor; 
on  a  side  table  was  an  array  of  gloves,  the  scarf  of 
white  linen  for  the  minister  and  long  bands  of  crape 
called  "  weepers  "  for  the  undertaker  and  pall-bear- 
ers. There  were  six  pall-bearers,  who  took  their 
places  on  either  side  of  the  coffin,  and  acted  as  ush- 
ers for  the  company.  For  the  more  prominent  per- 
sons of  the  village  society  and  for  the  immediate 
friends  of  the  family,  kid  gloves  were  provided;  for 
the  humbler  class  of  attendants,  the  gloves  were 
black  cotton,  and  it  was  a  nice  point  to  decide  who 
were  entitled  to  kids. 

As  Dinsmore  entered  the  room  Tim  Mitchell  came 
forward,  his  face  beaming  with  satisfaction,  holding 
in  his  hands  a  pair  of  two-button  kids  for  "  the  Dom- 
inie "  and  the  white  linen  scarf,  which  he  adjusted 
10  145 


146  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

with  the  peremptory  air  of  one  who  knows  exactly 
how  it  should  be  done. 

Dinsmore  took  his  seat  near  the  head  of  the  coffin 
by  a  small  table  on  which  was  a  bible,  a  hymn-book, 
and  a  glass  of  water.  The  crowd  outside  pressed 
close  to  the  windows;  for  it  was  the  new  Dominie's 
first  funeral. 

Eli  Hilton  who  knew  well  the  customs  of  Clinton- 
ville,  and  was  a  sort  of  leader  in  good  society,  was  the 
first  to  enter  and  view  the  corpse.  As  he  came  into 
the  room  he  took  off  his  hat  with  his  left  hand,  and 
with  his  right  smoothed  down  his  hair,  answered  the 
whispered  enquiry  of  Tim  Mitchell,  "What  is  your 
size?"  received  his  kid  gloves,  walked  up  to  the 
coffin,  gazed  upon  the  face  of  the  corpse,  drew  down 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  closed  his  eyes  tightly, 
and  then  passed  out  to  the  plot  in  front  of  the  house. 

"  It's  as  beautiful  a  corpse  as  I  ever  saw  "  he  said 
as  the  crowd  outside  waited  for  his  verdict.  "  You 
oughtn't  to  miss  the  chance  of  seein'  it." 

One  after  another  filed  in,  and  observing  the  same 
order  of  coming  and  going,  each  making  some  wry 
face  as  they  looked  on  the  face  of  the  dead  girl,  re- 
turned to  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house  and  talked 
politics  or  swapped  horses  and  heifers,  until  it  was 
time  "  to  lift." 

In  former  times,  as  they  left  the  house,  they  passed 
by  a  table  on  which  were  set  out  cold  meats,  bread 
and  butter  and  liquors,  where  each  took  a  glass  of 
his  favorite  toddy;  but  now,  as  one  old  man  said  to 
Dinsmore,  with  some  bitterness  "  Temperance  has 
done  for  funerals." 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  147 

The  service  was  brief  and  simple.  Dinsmore  made 
a  prayer,  the  choir  sang  a  hymn,  he  read  the  XlVth 
chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel,  and  commented  briefly 
on  the  first  four  verses. 

"  It  was  a  middlin'  short  service,  it  seems  to  me," 
said  Deacon  Shrake,  whose  bargain  for  a  yearling 
heifer  was  interrupted  by  the  announcement  that  it 
was  "  time  to  lift. "  "  It  was  short  "  answered  Deacon 
Shelton,  "but  we  must  remember  that  Julia  was 
quite  a  young  gal,  and  had  been  a  church  member 
not  over  six  months.  Of  course  on  some  of  us  older 
ones  the  Dominie  will  hev  more  to  say.  There  is  a 
natural  propriety  to  be  observed  in  all  these  things 
which  those  of  us  thet  hev  experience  understand." 

This  silenced  Deacon  Shrake,  but  did  not  console 
him  for  the  loss  of  his  bargain. 

Tim  Mitchell  marshalled  the  procession  promptly, 
as  one  who  knows  he  is  in  command  and  what  is  ex- 
pected of  him.  Dinsmore  with  his  white  scarf  and 
long,  crape  "weeper "was  in  the  lead;  after  him 
came  the  six  bearers  whose  "  weepers  "  reached  to 
their  waists;  then  came  the  coffin,  covered  with  the 
black,  velvet  pall,  carried  by  the  four  under-bearers; 
then  the  family  and  the  friends,  arranged  by  Tim, 
with  peremptory  order :  he  snibbed  them  into  file  with 
a  nod  of  his  head  or  a  touch  of  his  hand,  and  no  one 
dared  move  except  at  his  prompting.  Through  the 
village  they  walked  their  horses  decorously,  but,  once 
out  of  the  village  bounds,  they  rattled  along  at  a 
good,  round  pace;  for  Tim  was  a  busy  man. 

When  they  came  to  the  North  burying-ground, 
where  the  Snyder's  family  plot  was,  the  black  bier,  a 


148  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

simple  shelf  of  wood  on  four  legs,  was  brought  by 
the  friends  of  the  family  who  had  volunteered  to  dig 
the  grave,  as  was  the  universal  custom. 

After  the  brief  prayer  at  the  grave,  everyone  stood 
around  and  watched  in  silence  while  the  friends  filled 
in  the  stony  soil,  set  a  rough  stone  at  the  head  and 
foot,  rounded  up  the  soil  over  the  grave  and  replaced 
the  sod,  packing  it  down  with  the  backs  of  their 
spades;  and  then  planted  the  black  bier  over  the 
new-made  grave  to  await  the  next  who  might  need 
it. 

To  Dinsmore  it  was  a  most  melancholy  scene; 
needlessly  harrowing,  he  thought,  to  those  who  stood 
there  as  mourners;  and  yet  they  seemed  to  find  a 
grim  kind  of  consolation  in  this  dreary  ceremony. 

"Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Snyder  since  Julia  Ann's 
funeral "  said  Mrs.  Livingston  to  Dinsmore,  two  or 
three  days  later.  "  I  tried  to  talk  to  Anna  but  'twant 
no  use.  She's  got  the  notion  into  her  head  that 
'twas  harder  for  her  to  lose  Julia  than  'twould  be 
for  any  one  else  to  lose  their  darter.  Of  course  she 
was  the  only  gal  in  the  family;  but  there's  been 
others  where  'twas  the  same,"  and  the  old  lady  sighed 
as  she  remembered  the  day  when,  with  her  own 
hands,  she  stitched  the  shroud  and  laid  out  her  own 
and  only  daughter.  "No!  'taint  no  use  talkin' to 
any  one  when  they  get  the  notion  that  what  they 
suffer  is  more'n  others  suffer  in  the  same  afflictions: 
I  guess  we're  all  built  on  nigh  the  same  pattern." 

"  I  have  seen  her  once,  but  could  not  talk  with 
her,"  said  Dinsmore.  "She  sat  cold  and  numbed 
with  her  grief,  and  with  a  stony  gaze,  looking  straight 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  1 49 

before  her;  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  one  word  that 
I  said." 

"  You'd  better  go  see  her  soon  again.  If  she  don't 
get  moved  out  o'  that  rut  she's  in,  I  wouldn't  answer 
for  her  life;  let  alone  her  reason." 

So  Dinsmore  betook  him  to  the  little  house,  set 
back  from  the  roadside  about  one  hundred  feet. 
Along  the  straight  path  bordered  with  box,  which 
had  a  funereal  aspect  and  odor,  were  the  flower  beds 
planted  and  tended  by  Julia  Snyder,  a  delicate  girl 
as  pale  as  one  of  her  snowdrops,  but  as  sunny  at 
heart  as  one  of  her  daffodils.  She  had  faded  away 
gently,  and,  three  days  before  her  twenty-second 
birthday,  had  died.  She  passed  away  with  a  tender 
smile  on  her  lips  as  her  mother  held  her  hand,  trust- 
ing and  believing,  without  a  shadow  on  her  soul. 

Dinsmore  had  thought  it  an  ideal  parting  from 
this  life  to  enter  on  the  new  and  higher  life. 

But  it  had  left  the  blackness  of  darkness  in  the 
mother's  heart.  "  It's  all  right  for  you  Mr.  Dinsmore ; 
you're  the  preacher,  and  it's  your  business  to  talk 
about  God's  being  good  and  Julia's  bein'  happy; 
but  she  wan't  your  daughter,  and  you  don't  know 
nothing  about  that  side  of  the  matter.  I  could  ha' 
borne  it  if  she'd  been  took  young;  but  here  she  was 
just  growed  up  to  be  a  comfort  to  me;  she  was  a 
help  every  way ;  she  was  all  that  made  my  life  happy, 
and  I  say  it  ain't  fair  to  leave  me  to  get  so  wrapt  up 
in  her  and  to  take  her  right  away — no  warnin'  giv 
and  nothin'  left  to  me.  I  don't  call  that  fair.  I 
wouldn't  do  it  to  my  worst  enemy." 

"  His  ways  are  not  our  ways  and  His  thoughts  are 


150  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

not  our  thoughts,"  replied  Dinsmore  solemnly,  to 
this  tirade. 

"No,  they  are  not"  she  replied  hotly,  "That's  just 
what  I  say,  I  would  be  ashamed  to  look  anyone  in 
the  face  that  I  had  treated  that  way." 

"  Mrs.  Snyder, "  said  Dinsmore,  quietly,  "  let  me  tell 
you  a  story  of  another  mother  whose  sorrow  was  very 
much  like  yours,  and  whose  story  will  perhaps  throw 
some  light  upon  your  own  case.  There  was  a  young 
mother  in  Ireland  with  a  daughter  about  sixteen 
years  old,  and  three  younger  boys.  They  had  lived 
on  the  same  little  farm  year  after  year,  and  their 
means  had  grown  narrower  and  their  lives  more  sor- 
did and  hopeless,  and  they  were  now  at  a  point  where 
starvation  stared  them  in  the  face.  Her  father  had 
often  urged  her  to  emigrate  to  America;  but  she  was 
afraid  of  the  new  and  untried  country,  and,  ruled  by 
this  fear,  she  was  more  ready  to  let  her  children  al- 
most starve  than  move  to  the  undiscovered  country. 
One  day,  her  father  came  to  the  house  and  took 
away  her  one,  only,  darling  daughter  and  carried 
her  off  to  the  far  country  where  there  was  bread 
enough  and  to  spare  for  them  all,  that  he  might  make 
her  feel  that  there  was  a  home  for  her  there,  where 
her  daughter  was;  and  when,  at  last,  driven  by  want 
from  her  old  home,  she  started  for  the  unknown  land, 
she  found  that  she  did  go  forth  with  courage,  because 
her  daughter  had  gone  before  her  and  was  there  to 
welcome  her.      Do  you  think  that  father  was  cruel  ?" 

Dinsmore  waited  anxiously  for  her  answer. 

"I  think  he  might  ha'  taken  them  both  together" 
she  answered,  fiercely. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  151 

"  But  she  was  not  ready  to  go  "  he  said,  gently ;  "  and 
what  would  have  become  of  the  little  boys  ?"  he  added. 

To  this  she  made  no  answer,  but  relapsed  into  her 
cold,  sullen,  indifference. 

That  evening  he  was  at  Judge  Lowther's  to  tea, 
and,  after  supper,  told  Mary  of  his  talk  with  Mrs. 
Snyder,  and  its  fruitless  result.  "  Will  you  see  her 
to-morrow,  Miss  Mary,"  he  said  in  a  hopeless  tone, 
as  though  at  his  wits  end,  and  having  no  suggestion 
to  make  other  than  that  Mary  should  see  her. 

"  I  cannot  do  anything  to  help  her,  if  you  cannot, 
Mr.  Dinsmore  "  Mary  said.  But  Dinsmore  thought 
that  she  could.  So  on  the  next  morning  Mary  went 
to  see  her  and  found  her  in  the  same  dull,  hopeless 
state  which  Dinsmore  had  described — and  felt  ap- 
palled before  a  grief  so  dumb;  so  drowsy,  unimpas- 
sioned,  hopeless  a  woe. 

"Have  you  looked  over  Julia's  things  to  see 
whether  there  were  any  that  she  wanted  given  away  ?" 
said  Mary,  scarce  knowing  what  she  said. 

"No!  I  haven't  had  courage  to  touch  anything 
belonging  to  her,  nor  even  to  go  to  her  room;  but 
it  seems  as  if  I'd  dare  go  if  you'd  go  along  with  me 
Miss  Lowther. " 

So  Mary  put  her  arm  around  her  and  led  her  up 
stairs  to  the  dainty  little  room,  which  though  simple 
and  plain  in  its  furniture,  showed  the  marks  of  nat- 
ural refinement  and  delicacy.  She  sat  Mrs.  Snyder 
down,  and,  with  a  feeling  of  awe,  opened  the  bureau 
drawers  and  looked  on  the  neat  and  orderly  arrange- 
ment which  had  been  made  by  the  hands  now  lying 
under  the  stony  soil. 


15 2  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

As  she  opened  the  box  in  which  the  handkerchiefs 
were  daintily  folded,  there  lay  a  letter  from  Julia  to 
her  mother.  She  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  and  her 
heart  beat  fast;  it  was  like  a  message  from  the  other 
world,  this  unopened  letter. 

She  hesitated  but  for  a  moment  and  then  took  it 
to  Mrs.  Snyder,  but  she  looked  at  it  in  a  dazed,  help- 
less way,  as  it  lay  in  her  lap. 

"Who  is  it  from?"  she  asked. 

"It  is  from  Julia  to  you,"  Mary  whispered,  in  an 
awed  voice. 

"A  letter,  already,  from  Julia;  and  she  gone  only 
two  days?" 

Mary  feared  that  her  mind  had  given  way;  but 
then  to  her  great  relief  she  saw  the  tears  slowly  rise 
to  Mrs.  Snyder's  eyes  and  drop,  one  by  one,  upon 
the  letter  lying  in  her  lap.  "  It  was  like  her  "  she 
said,  "  It  was  just  like  Julia  to  do  that.  Read  it  to 
me  Mary.     I  can't  see  to  read  it  myself." 

Nor  could  Mary  until,  by  a  strong  effort,  she 
checked  her  rising  tears,  with  the  thought  that  it  was 
for  this  that  she  had  come  here.  She  could  not  min- 
ister to  this  stricken  heart,  nor  could  Mr.  Dinsmore, 
but  her  ears  would  be  open  to  the  voice  of  her  dar- 
ling. So  she  sat  on  the  floor  at  Mrs.  Snyder's  feet, 
with  her  face  turned  from  her,  and  read  her  daugh- 
ter's letter. 

It  was  written  in  a  clear  hand,  without  a  tremor, 
and  told  her  mother,  first;  that  she  knew  how  near 
the  end  was  and  that  she  faced  it  without  any  fear; 
that  after  she  was  gone  there  were  some  things  her 
mother  could  do  for  her,  and  then  she  detailed  the 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  153 

gifts  among  her  little  circle  of  friends,  and  others  to 
the  poor,  which  she  would  like  her  mother  to  give  in 
her  name.  "And  will  you  take  them  yourself, 
mother;  for  it  will  do  you  good  to  talk  with  those 
that  love  me,  after  I  am  gone.  And  remember, 
mother,  whether  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  I  am  forever 
and  ever, 

Your  loving  daughter 

Julia." 

When  the  letter  was  ended,  Mary's  restraint  gave 
way  and  she  burst  into  almost  hysterical  sobbing. 
Mrs.  Snyder  lifted  her  up  and  took  her  in  her  arms. 

''  Don't  take  on  so,  poor  child.  I  oughtn't  to  hev 
let  you  read  it  to  me.  Don't  cry  so,  Julia  ain't  taken 
away  from  me.  She's  my  own  daughter  yet;  that's 
what  she  says  'on  earth  or  in  heaven,  your  own  lov- 
in'  daughter.'  Why,  child,  I  see  it  now.  I  couldn't 
see  it  before,  but  I  see  it  now — I  know  it,  and  want 
to  set  right  about  the  things  she  wants  me  to  do.  If 
you'll  help  me  to  sort  some  of  the  things,  so  as  to  be 
sure  that  I  get  them  all  right ;  'twill  do  us  both  good, 
I'm  sure." 

But  there  was  little  need  of  sorting;  for  a  slip  of 
paper  pinned  to  each  article  told  for  whom  it  was 
intended. 

As  Mary  left  the  house  and  bade  Mrs.  Snyder 
good-bye,  the  cold,  set  look  was  gone  from  her  face; 
it  was  soft  and  loving,  and  there  came  to  Mary's 
mind  the  words  "  the  peace  that  passeth  understand- 
ing;" this  must  be  what  was  meant. 

That  night,  at  prayer  meeting,  Mary  understood 
what  lay  on  the  young  pastor's  heart  so  heavily,  as 


154  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

he  seemed  to  strive  in  prayer  for  hearts  that  were 
burdened  with  sorrow  greater  than  they  could  bear. 

She  saw  his  look  of  surprise,  when,  after  the  meet- 
ing, Mrs.  Snyder  came  to  him  and  said  briefly  "  I  see 
it  now  Mr.  Dinsmore,  as  I  didn't  see  it  when  you 
were  talking  to  me." 

He  walked  home  with  Mary  Lowther,  who  told 
him  of  the  scene  when  she  read  Julia's  letter;  and 
while  Mary  dwelt  on  the  sweetness  of  heart  and  mind 
shown  by  the  dead  girl,  he  credited  the  living  mes- 
senger with  much  of  the  result,  though  she  seemed 
unconscious  that  she  had  borne  any  important  part 
in  healing  this  broken  heart. 

On  his  return  to  the  hotel,  Mrs.  Keene  met  him 
and  tried  to  enlist  him  in  a  discussion  of  the  book 
that  lay  in  her  lap,  then  rallied  him  upon  being  so 
distraught;  but  could  not  recall  him  from  the  mem- 
ory of  that  scene  which  Mary  had  so  graphically  but 
simply  described  to  him,  where  it  seemed,  almost, 
that  one  had  risen  from  the  dead  to  tell  of  what  lay 
beyond  this  life. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

MRS.  KEENE  filled  so  large  a  part  in  the  vil- 
lage gossip,  and  her  name  was  linked,  now 
with  Judge  Lowther's,  and,  again  by  others,  with 
the  young  minister's;  and  there  were  so  many  con- 
flicting opinions  regarding  her,  that  Mrs.  Livingston 
made  up  her  mind  that  it  was  her  duty  to  call  and 
see  for  herself  what  kind  of  a  woman  this  was,  who 
might  become  her  pastor's  wife.  So,  donning  the 
black  satin  dress  and  the  black  mits,  which  were  re- 
served for  grand  occasions,  and  carefully  adjusting 
the  poke  bonnet,  she  made  her  way  slowly  up  the 
village  street,  halting  from  time  to  time  to  take  a 
look  at  one  or  another  neighbor's  yard  and  note  their 
flower  beds,  or  to  pass  the  time-o'  day  with  them, 
and,  at  last,  found  herself  at  the  hotel. 

Enquiring  for  Mrs.  Keene,  she  found  that  she  was 
out  for  a  drive,  but  Mrs.  Hollis  was  at  home,  and 
the  panting  old  lady  sat  herself  down,  partly  to  get 
her  breath,  and  partly  to  hear  from  Mrs.  Hollis  her 
impression  of  this  grand  lady. 

"Good-day,  Mrs.  Hollis!  After  walkin'  down 
street  and  up  them  steps  I  really  haven't  breath 
enough  left  to  ask  after  your  health.  How  ever  folks 
live  in  houses  with  high  stoops,  beats  me  to  know." 

"  If  you'd  asked  after  my  sickness  I  could  ha'  told 
i55 


156  A    HILLSIDE   PARISH. 

you  more  about  it,  Mrs.  Livingston.  My  health's 
been  gone  so  long  that  I  most  forget  how  it  feels  to 
be  healthy." 

"Do  you  keep  your  appetite  to  eat?" 

"Well,  I  never  hed  no  appetite  to  boast  of:  but  I 
do  take  some  comfort  still  in  corn-beef  and  cabbage, 
if  I  can  have  mince  pie  for  dessert,  to  round  it  off. 
I  notice  my  failin'  mostly  in  that  I  can't  bear  sour 
bread.  It  turns  my  stummick  upside-down.  I  was 
tellin'  Mrs.  Joyce  to-day  that  I  can't  stand  her 
bread,  no  longer.  She  flared  up  in  a  minit;  but  I 
told  her  it  wan't  no  use  her  gettin'  mad,  for  that 
only  proved  the  bread  was  sour." 

"Sour  bread  is  more'n  you're  called  on  to  stand, 
Mrs.  Hollis,  specially  at  your  time  o'  life." 

"I  ain't  so  old  as  some  folks  take  me  for,  Mrs. 
Livingston,  and  can  git  up  a  flight  o'  stairs  without 
losing  all  the  wind  in  my  body;  but  I  alius  was 
springy  in  the  tread." 

"  The  most  poorly  of  us  hessomethin'  to  be  thank- 
ful for,  if  we  only  know  to  find  it  out  "  said  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston; then  shifting  from  ground  that  was  getting 
dangerous,  "  I  dropped  in  to  see  Mrs.  Keene,  seein' 
that  she  was  attendin'  our  church,  quite  regular. 
Hev  you  made  any  acquaintance  with  her,  Mrs. 
Hollis?" 

"  Why,  I  may  say  Mrs.  Livingston,  we  are  quite 
intimate;  she  bein'  a  stranger  here,  I  felt  bound  to 
enquire  who  she  was  and  where  she  come  from;  and 
hevin'  no  one  else  to  turn  to,  I  went  straight  to  her. 
I  am  bound  to  say  she  acted  like  a  perfect  lady. 
She's  been  unfortunate  in  her  marriage,  through  no 


A    HILLSIDE  FAKISH.  157 

fault  of  hers,  and  now  she's  free  from  a  perfect  brute ; 
how  she  came  alive  out  of  his  hands  is  more  than  I 
can  tell:  but  through  it  all  she  acted  like  a  perfect 
angel.  I've  advised  her,  as  the  safest  course  for  her, 
to  marry  some  good  man  who  can  protect  her  and 
her  little  boy:  and  there's  only  one  man  in  the  vil- 
lage fit  to  call  her  wife.  Amelia  Ann  don't  agree 
with  me;  but  that's  no  reason  to  make  me  alter  my 
mind.  I'm  bound  to  make  that  match  if  lean.  She 
reads  books  way  ahead  of  anything  that  is  writ  in 
English,  and  reads  poetry  too;  and  what's  more  she 
understands  it.  She's  just  cut  out  for  a  minister's 
wife,  by  her  winnin'  ways.  Why,  when  she's  a'talkin' 
to  you,  you  know  there  ain't  no  body  in  the  world 
she'd  rather  talk  to,  and  she  knows  just  what  you 
want  to  talk  about.  I  tell  you  she'd  make  sech  a 
ministers  wife  as  hes  never  been  seen  in  the  country ; 
and,  poor  thing,  after  all  she's  gone  through  with, 
she  deserves  just  sech  a  man  as  Mister  Dinsmore;" 
the  old  lady  paused  to  take  breath. 

"Well,  I'm  real  grieved  she's  not  to  home,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Livingston.  "  I  shall  surely  call  again, 
hopin'  to  find  her  in.  And  I'll  say  good-afternoon, 
Mrs.  Hollis." 

"You'll  be  pleased  Mrs.  Livingston  "  answered  the 
old  lady;  and  despite  her  "springy  tread"  she  bade 
the  old  dame  good-bye  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

On  her  way  home,  dame  Livingston  stopped  to 
look  at  no  flower-beds  or  pass  the  time-o'  day  with 
her  neighbors.  Steadily  she  plodded  her  way  home- 
ward, pondering.  What  she  had  heard,  even  from 
the  enthusiastic  admirers  of  Mrs.  Keene,  by  no  means 


158  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

assured  her  that  either  Mr.  Dinsmore  or  the  parish 
would  be  benefited  by  having  this  lady  installed  as 
the  pastor's  wife.  She  was  more  than  ever  deter- 
mined to  get  her  own  impressions,  from  a  personal 
interview. 

She  let  but  one  afternoon  pass  before,  arraying 
herself  again  in  her  company  dress,  she  trudged  up 
the  Main  Street  to  the  Inn.  And,  this  time,  fortune 
favored  her,  for  she  found  Mrs.  Keene  sitting  on  the 
balcony.  Passing  into  the  parlor,  and  seating  her- 
self on  the  sofa  she  waited  until  she  had  gotten  her 
breath  and  then,  finding  Mrs.  Joyce,  asked  her  to  tell 
Mrs.  Keene  that  she  had  come  to  call  on  her. 

As  Mrs.  Keene  came  into  the  darkened  parlor, 
from  the  bright  sunshine,  she  looked  round,  for  a 
minute,  before  she  discovered  Mrs.  Livingston,  nes- 
tled on  the  sofa  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room. 

This  gave  the  old  lady  a  chance  to  see  her  at  close 
range,  without  the  glamour  of  Sunday  dress  and  that 
city  "bunnit."  Her  dress  was  of  white  muslin,  with 
a  red  sash  at  her  waist,  a  little  bow  of  red  ribbon  in 
front  and  on  the  sleeves.  Her  light,  auburn  hair 
was  coiled  in  a  simple  Grecian  knot,  low  down  on 
the  back  of  her  head.  Her  figure  was  slight  and 
girlish,  and  her  agile  movement  contributed  to  make 
her  look  ten  years  younger  than  she  was.  It  was 
only  when  one  got  a  nearer  view  of  her  face,  and 
talked  to  her,  that  one  could  form  a  truer  estimate. 

From  the  dark  corner,  where  she  was  passing  her 
crooked  fore-finger  across  her  lips,  Mrs.  Livingston 
set  her  down  as  "  giddy." 

As  the  old  lady  arose,  Mrs.  Keene  hurried  across 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  159 

the  room  to  meet  her,  with  outstretched  hands  and 
a  smiling  welcome. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  feel  complimented 
by  your  calling  on  me  Mrs.  Livingston.  It  was 
rather  my  place  to  have  asked  you  to  let  me  call  and 
see  you." 

"That's  not  our  way  with  strangers,  Mrs.  Keene. 
We  like  to  make  them  welcome  to  our  village  and 
so,  as  I  did  not  find  you  home  day  before  yesterday 
when  I  called,  I  came  again  to-day;  that  you  might 
not  think  us  neglectful." 

"Why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Livingston,"  said  Mrs.  Keene 
seating  herself  on  the  sofa  beside  the  old  lady  and 
laying  her  hand  on  her  arm,  "  I  am  so  sorry  that  I 
did  not  know  of  your  call,  so  as  to  have  saved  you 
this  walk  in  the  hot  sun.  I  should  have  returned 
your  call  right  away ;  but  I  did  not  receive  your  card. " 

"And  no  wonder  you  didn't,  for  I  have  never  fell 
into  that  new-fangled  way  of  goin*  round  leavin' 
cards  to  let  folks  know  that  I've  called.  I've  alius 
held  that  the  best  card  to  leave  was  a  good  shake  of 
the  right-hand.  There  are  only  four  folks  in  the 
village  that  use  those  cards  any  way;  and  they  never 
use  'em  on  me.  I've  alius  supposed  that  they  come 
to  see  me,  and,  if  I  wan't  to  home,  they'd  come  an- 
other day  when  I  was;  and  I  never  could  see  how 
leavin'  a  card  makes  out  a  visit." 

Mrs.  Keene  did  not  deem  it  worth  while  to  enter 
into  the  defence  of  the  customs  of  society  with  this 
downright  old  lady,  who  sat,  comfortably  blinking 
at  her,  and  stroking  her  lips  with  her  crooked  fore- 
finger; which  had  the  same  disconcerting  effect  on 


160  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Mrs.  Keene  that  it  had  on  every  one,  who  saw  it  for 
the  first  time. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  stop  some  time  in  the  village" 
enquired  Mrs.  Livingston? 

"  I  cannot  tell  how  long  I  shall  be  here.  I  came 
for  rest  and  change  of  scene  after  six  months  of 
trouble  that  had  quite  broken  me  down." 

"  It  seems  to  ha'  done  you  good  already,  for  you 
look  now  as  if  you  were  in  the  best  o'  health." 

"  There  are  some  troubles  of  the  heart  that  do  not 
show  on  the  face,  Mrs.  Livingston." 

"  Yes,  but  I  thought  there  was  alius  a  sort  o'  bright, 
protrudin'  eye  that  went  along  with  heart-disease. 
I  don't  think  your  eyes  have  that  look,"  and  the  old 
lady  scanned  her  keenly,  as  she  passed  her  forefinger 
to  and  fro  across  her  lips. 

"  I  do  not  mean  heart  disease,  Mrs.  Livingston. 
I  mean  sorrow  of  heart,  trials  and  troubles  that  wear 
out  life  and  make  it  seem  not  worth  living." 

"Yes,  we  all  of  us  have  our  troubles.  Some  of 
'em  we  make,  some  we  borrow,  and  some  are  sent  to 
us.  I  never  knowed  anyone  to  die  of  'em  though. 
I've  seen  a  many  that  felt  they  was goin'  to  die;  but 
they  didn't.  They  lived  right  on,  and  a'most  killed 
those  that  had  to  live  with  'em.  Besides  religion, 
I  think  the  best  cure  for  these  is  to  try  to  help  some- 
one else,  who  is  in  worse  trouble  than  you  are.  That 
seems  to  fetch  you  right  out  of  the  rut  and  give  you 
more  of  a  lift  than  you  give  to  them." 

As  this  did  not  meet  Mrs.  Keene's  case,  from  her 
point  of  view,  at  least,  she  made  no  answer  to  the 
dame's  homilv. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  161 

"  Are  you  a  professor  ?" 

Mrs.  Livingston  shot  the  question  at  her,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  so  briefly  and  quickly  that  she  an- 
swered with  some  confusion — "  No,  I  have  never 
taught;  having  never  needed  to  earn  my  living." 

The  old  lady  smiled.  "  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way. 
Are  you  a  professin'  member!" 

"Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon.  No,  I  am  not  a  com- 
municant of  the  Church,  though  I  am  a  regular 
attendant." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  you  there  whenever  I  was  out,  and 
when  I  wasn't  others  hev  told  me  of  your  bein'  out, 
and  at  prayer-meetin'  too.  It  might  do  you  good  if 
you  was  to  become  a  professin'  member.  It  helps 
some  folks  very  much;  others  it  don't  seem  to  do  no 
good  to;  but  that  I  hold  is  their  own  fault." 

"  You  must  congratulate  yourselves  on  having  se- 
cured such  a  man  for  your  pastor.  Mr.  Dinsmore  is 
such  an  interesting  preacher  that  one  does  not  care 
to  miss  his  services." 

"  He  seems  to  be  gettin'  his  place  among  the 
people,"  Mrs.  Livingston  answered.  "To  be  sure 
we  miss  our  old  Dominie  yet,  especially  in  seasons 
of  trouble.  You  know  young  folks  don't  take  no 
account  of  trouble,  Mrs.  Keene.  As  we  get  along 
in  life  and  hev  had  our  own,  we  can  understand  those 
of  other  folks.  Mr.  Dinsmore  knows  of  course,  the 
right  texts  to  use  in  cases  of  affliction,  and  his  re- 
marks on  Julia  Snyder  was  very  affectin'.  Some 
said  that  they  was  ruther  short,  but  I  told  'em  they 
was  full  o'  gospel  peth;  and  long  enough,  seem'  how 
hot  the  weather  was  and  the  corpse  three  days  old. 


1 62  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

And  then,  there  was  an  awful  big  crowd  to  see  the 
corpse,  and  it  was  the  fust  time  Mr.  Dinsmore  was 
scarfed;  and  everythin'  seemed  to  point  to  a  short 
service.  Our  Old  Dominie,  I  don't  suppose,  was 
generally  considered  so  good  a  preacher  as  Mr.  Dins- 
more,  but  he  knowed  us  through  and  through — hed 
baptized  most  the  whole  congregation;  seen  'em 
through  teethin',  measles  and  chicken-pox;  married 
'em  and  buried  one  or  more  out  o'  every  family  in 
the  village.  When  he  come  to  talk  to  you  in  afflic- 
tion, maybe  he  couldn't  handle  texts  as  good  as  Mr. 
Dinsmore;  but  he  knowed  us  clean  through,  and 
could  tell  us,  without  any  texts,  just  what  we  needed 
to  hear.  I  suppose  you  hev  found  it  so  in  your 
afflictions,  Mrs.  Keene,  that  a  young  minister  ain't 
nowhere  alongside  o'  one  that's  old  and  full  of  expe- 
rience."    The  old  lady  paused  for  a  reply. 

"  My  troubles  were  of  a  kind,  Mrs.  Livingston, 
that  led  me  to  seek  relief  not  in  the  counsel  of  min- 
isters, but  in  the  courts  of  law." 

"That's  hard  lines  for  a  woman,  but  if  our  old 
Dominie  hed  been  livin',  so  as  you  could  ha'  gone  to 
him,  I'll  be  bound  he'd  ha'  fetched  you  through 
without  leavin'  you  in  the  clutches  o'  the  lawyers. 
Be  you  goin'  to  work  in  our  church  while  you're  with 
us,  Mrs.  Keene?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  Mrs.  Livingston,  whether  I  can 
find  anything  suited  to  me  in  the  way  of  work.  I 
should  have  been  delighted  to  have  gone  out  to  that 
Sunday  school  in  Scooper's  Hollow.  There  is  some- 
thing charming  in  the  idea  of  taking  hold  of  minds 
that  are  almost  savage  in  their  ignorance  and  watch- 


A   HILLSIDE  PAXISH.  1 63 

ing  them  as  they  begin  to  develop;  but  I  stopped 
there  the  other  day,  with  Miss  Lowther,  and  that  old 
witch  Barbara  glared  at  me  with  such  an  evil  eye, 
that  I  do  not  want  to  go  near  the  place." 

"You'd  get  no  harm  from  Barbara,  Mrs.  Keene. 
She's  round  the  village  a  good  deal,  and  whatever 
folks  may  say  about  her  bein'  a  witch,  she's  the  best 
of  the  whole  lot;  and,  if  you're  kind  to  her  young 
ones,  she'll  do  you  a  good  turn.  The  old  woman 
does  more  than  the  whole  lot  of  those  drunken  lazy 
men  to  keep  them  Scoopers  in  some  sort  of  order. 
But  if  you  don't  take  to  work  with  the  Scoopers,  I 
was  thinkin',  from  what  Mrs.  Hollis  said  of  your 
readin'  o'  furrin  books  and  poetry  and  such  like, 
you'd  be  just  the  one  to  take  a  Bible  Class  o'  young 
women.  You  see,  as  the  girls  git  older,  they  want 
a  little  higher  schoolin',  than  those  who  hev  been 
brought  up  in  the  village  is  apt  to  give  'em." 

Mrs.  Keene  smiled,  as  she  thought  of  the  "furrin 
books"  as  subjects  for  Bible  Class  study.  "Well, 
we  will  see  about  it  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  I  will  ask 
Mr.  Dinsmore  what  he  thinks  of  my  fitness  for  a 
Bible  Class  teacher.  They  tell  me  that  you  have 
such  a  charming  home  Mrs.  Livingston,  so  cosy  and 
full  of  comfort,  and  that  no  one  ever  forgets  the  first 
day  they  taste  your  chicken-pie;  that  your  garden  is 
full  of  those  dear  old-fashioned  flowers,  which  are  so 
much  sweeter  than  these  new  things  with  long  names. 
May  I  come  to  see  you,  some  time  soon  ?  and  when 
you  know  me  better  I  shall  hope  for  an  invitation  to 
supper  with  you." 

"  Sakes  alive!  how  folks  do  talk.      'Taint  nothin' 


1 64  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

to  raise  primroses  and  daffodils  and  lilacs  and  sweet- 
peas,  and  marigolds,  and  'taint  nothin'  to  make  a 
chicken-pie,  when  you've  got  the  chickens  and  hev 
been  taught,  from  a  girl,  to  roll  puff-paste.  I'd  ex- 
pect you  to  come  to  see  me,  or  I  wouldn't  ha'  called 
on  you;  and  you're  welcome  to  supper,  any  day, 
only  so  I  know  it  the  day  before,  so  as  to  hev  a 
chicken  killed.  I  like  to  let  'em  lie  one  whole  day 
before  puttin'  'em  into  pie.  Suppose  we  make  it  day 
after  to-morrow.  We  take  supper  at  six.  And  I'll 
bid  you  good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Keene,  hopin'  as  your 
health  will  allow  you  to  come  down,  to-morrow  af- 
ternoon;" and,  without  more  ado,  the  old  lady  sailed 
out  of  the  room,  nodding  her  head  to  Mrs.  Keene's 
acceptance  of  her  invitation,  and  acknowledging  it 
with  a  series  of  low  grunts. 

When  she  was  gone  Mrs.  Keene  sat  down  on  the 
sofa  and  burst  into  a  merry,  ringing  laugh. 

On  her  way  down  the  street,  Mrs.  Livingston,  by 
turns,  knitted  her  forehead  or  smiled  shrewdly,  and 
nodded  her  head;  at  times  emphasizing  her  thoughts 
with  a  low,  aspirated  grunt. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

SOCIALLY  considered  it  had  been  a  dull  year  for 
Clintonville.  Neither  wedding,  fair  nor  festi- 
val had  broken  its  monotony.  During  the  winter, 
owing  to  the  lack  of  a  pastor's  wife  to  superintend 
them,  there  had  been  no  church  sociables  and  the  mis- 
sionary sewing  society  had  suspended.  In  fact  Julia 
Snyder's  funeral  had  been  the  one  social  event  of  the 
year.  Eli  Hilton,  the  well-to-do  village  bachelor, 
whose  failure  to  marry  was  one  of  the  unsolved  prob- 
lems of  life  in  Clintonville,  declared  that  "  unless 
some  one  else  died  or  got  married  he  was  agoin'  to 
do  it  himself;"  uncertain,  it  seemed,  whether  to 
choose  a  wedding  or  a  funeral. 

He  was  sauntering  past  the  hotel  waiting  for  the 
stage-coach,  as  was  his  wont,  summer  and  winter,  in 
rain  or  shine;  for  being  well  to  the  fore  in  worldly 
goods,  and  having  no  other  occupation,  he  made  it 
his  business  to  inspect  every  new-comer  to  the  village 
and  gather  the  outside  gossip  which  the  stage-coach 
brought. 

There  were  very  few  strangers,  or  old  inhabitants, 
who  escaped  the  sort  of  customs  inspection  of  which 
he  was  the  self-appointed  officer. 

Dinsmore  had  accosted  him,  as  he  was  strolling 
by,  with  the  inquiry,  "  why  have  you  changed  your 
165 


1 66  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

seat  from  the  front  pew  in  church  to  the  very 
last?" 

"Well!  Dominie,  I  didn't  care  to  sit  quite  so  close 
to  the  mouth  of  the  cannon,"  he  replied,  with  a  twin- 
kle in  his  eye. 

"  I  can't  see  that  it  makes  much  difference  whether 
you  are  near  or  far  away." 

"  It  seems  a  little  easier  back  there.  I  can  see 
how  it  strikes  some  o'  them  in  front;  and  it  don't 
seem  to  come  so  straight  at  me,  Dominie.  I'm  more 
comfortable  back  there." 

Eli  was  reputed  to  be  something  of  a  free-thinker, 
and  this  might  account  for  his  preference  for  a  long 
range.      Dinsmore  did  not  pursue  the  subject. 

Then  he  uttered  his  protest  against  the  dull  mo- 
notony of  life  in  Clintonville,  and  wound  up  with  the 
suggestion  of  a  donation  party  for  Dinsmore. 

It  required  some  persuasion  on  Dinsmore's  part  to 
divert  this  compliment  from  himself  to  Mr.  Forrester, 
but  he  was  finally  successful ;  for  Eli,  who  prided 
himself  on  the  breadth  and  liberality  of  his  opinions, 
was  impartial  in  all  relations  of  life.  He  meted  out 
his  attentions,  measure  for  measure,  among  the  vil- 
lage belles,  so  that  if  he  was  reported  to  be  "  keep- 
ing company  "  with  one  of  them  he  would,  during  the 
next  week,  equalize  matters  by  the  same  amount  of 
expenditure  on  another;  he  voted  in  alternate  years, 
with  conscientious  regularity,  for  the  candidates  of 
each  political  party;  he  had  a  pew  in  both  the  Epis- 
copal and  Presbyterian  churches  and  was  scrupulous 
in  dividing  his  attendance,  and  his  contribution  of 
25  cents  per  week,  between  the  two  churches. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  167 

Dinsmore  persuaded  him  that  age  and  priority  of 
service  entitled  Mr.  Forrester  to  be  considered  first, 
and  thus  diverted  the  threatened  function  from  him- 
self to  the  old  rector. 

He  had  been  honored  by  one  such  gathering,  on  a 
much  smaller  scale,  and  without  the  donation  feature, 
and  that  festivity  had  been  enough  to  make  him 
eschew  such  honors,  until  the  memory  of  that  party 
at  Farmer  Brown's  had  been  softened  by  time. 

The  families  of  the  West  Settlement  had  been  in- 
vited by  the  hospitable  farmer  to  meet  their  new 
Pastor  at  a  "  Sociable." 

To  Dinsmore  this  seemed  a  sad  misnomer;  for, 
when  he  was  ushered  into  the  parlor,  there  sat  the 
farmers'  wives  and  daughters,  on  the  stiff  horse-hair 
chairs  and  sofas  which  were  pushed  back  tight  against 
the  wall.  They  sat  in  silence  staring  in  front  of 
them,  with  their  hands  placidly  folded  in  the  lap  of 
their  black  alpaca  dresses,  or  when  those  more  ac- 
customed to  the  ways  of  Clintonville  society  broke 
the  silence,  it  was  in  a  subdued  whisper. 

The  men  were  gathered  in  a  knot  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  hall.  Their  Sunday  clothes  gave  a  Sabbata- 
rian character  to  the  meeting,  and  they  could  not 
shake  off  the  feeling  that  it  was  a  church  service,  or 
at  least  a  funeral.  Their  starched  shirt  fronts  were 
veritable  straight-jackets,  their  cuffs  were  gyves  upon 
their  wrists;  they  were  in  thrall  body  and  soul;  and 
looked  out  from  their  white  shirt  collars  with  a  meek 
and  penitential  air. 

Farmer  Brown  met  Dinsmore  at  the  front  door, 
took  his  hat  from  him  and,  with  a  jerk  of  the  thumb, 


1 68  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

invited  him  to  enter  the  formidable  precincts  of  the 
parlor;  but  did  not  offer  to  lead  the  way. 

As  Dinsmore  walked  into  the  room  every  voice 
was  hushed,  even  the  faintest  whisper  ceased,  and 
all  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  young  pastor.  The 
old  Dominie  would  have  gone  round  the  room  and, 
with  pleasant  nod  and  handshake,  would  have  asked 
after  the  welfare  of  parents,  children  and  grand- 
children ;  what  would  the  new  Dominie  do  ?  Mrs. 
Brown  straightened  herself  in  her  chair,  prepared  to 
answer  any  question  that  might  be  addressed  to  her. 
Fannie  Brown  would  have  liked  to  step  right  forward 
and  give  the  young  pastor  a  hearty  shake  of  the 
hand,  and  welcome  him  to  their  house;  but  she  knew 
that  this  would  bring  upon  her  the  united  frowns  of 
the  matrons  of  the  whole  settlement,  and  the  repu- 
tation of  being  a  saucy,  forward  girl;  and  the  con- 
ventions of  good  society  in  Clintonville  restrained 
her  from  even  a  smile,  and  kept  her  eyes  demurely 
on  the  carpet  at  her  feet. 

Dinsmore  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  glare  of  the 
kerosene  lamp  on  the  centre  table,  and  two  tallow 
candles  on  the  mantel-shelf,  and  looked  for  his  host- 
ess. The  men  in  the  hall  had  crowded  to  the  door 
to  see  what  would  become  of  him.  In  the  dim  light 
of  the  kitchen  he  saw  a  cluster  of  faces  at  that  door, 
where  a  number  of  the  young  men  and  girls  had  re- 
treated and  were  having  a  good  time,  on  the  bare 
floor  and  wooden  chairs. 

The  row  of  farmers'  wives  in  black  alpaca  or  dark 
serge  dresses  round  the  wall  with  their  hands  folded 
in  their  laps  and  the  throng  at  the  two  doors  of  the 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  169 

room,  reminded  him  so  strongly  of  the  gathering  and 
conduct  of  the  people  at  a  funeral,  and  there  was 
the  open  melodeon  with  a  Moody  and  Sankey  hymn- 
book  on  the  rack,  that  his  first  impulse  was  to  shut 
his  eyes,  fold  his  hands  and  say  "let  us  pray." 

He  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Brown  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  room,  and  walked  quickly  over  to  her.  "  I'm 
awful  glad  you  could  come,  Mr.  Dinsmore." 

"Thank  you  Mrs.  Brown,"  and  he  shook  hands 
with  her. 

There  was  a  sigh  of  relief,  some  of  the  women 
looked  at  each  other  in  a  meaning  way,  one  or  two 
smiled,  their  young  pastor  had  done  the  proper 
thing;  their  minds  were  relieved;  on  the  main  point 
of  etiquette  he  was  all  right,  it  only  remained  now 
to  be  seen  what  order  he  would  observe  in  speaking 
to  the  others,  and  what  time  he  would  devote  to  each 
one;  whether  he  would  remember  those  who  had 
been  or  were  now  sick,  and  whether  he  would  inquire 
for  the  children  by  name,  and  get  the  names  at- 
tached to  the  proper  families. 

There  was  almost  a  question  of  principle  in  this 
latter  point;  for  some  families  were  wont  to  indulge 
in  names  gotten  from  books  of  poetry  or  call  their 
children  after  leading  men  or  women,  while  others 
adhered,  on  principle,  to  names  taken  from  the  Bible, 
and  even  these  they  tried  to  choose  not  at  random, 
but  with  conscientious  regard  to  their  meaning. 

It  was  a  serious  blunder  therefore,  to  forget  that 
farmer  Hilton's  oldest  boy  was  Adonijah,  or  con- 
found his  name  with  Deacon  Shrake's  son,  whom  he 
had  called  Extra  Harry  Lincoln  Shrake. 


170  A    HILLSIDE   PARISH. 

Therefore  the  whole  room  listened  while  Dinsmore 
went  the  round,  with  Mrs.  Brown  by  his  side  as  cha- 
peron; for,  after  the  handsome  way  in  which  he  had 
come  right  up  and  spoken  to  her,  she  would  not  leave 
him  in  the  lurch.  Not  only  did  she  recall  to  him  the 
name  but  often  some  of  the  family  points  of  each 
guest,  as  he  made  the  round,  thus  saving  him  from 
more  than  one  pitfall. 

As  he  passed  around  a  hum  of  conversation  arose; 
those  to  whom  he  had  spoken  fell  into  talk  with  their 
neighbors,  those  who  were  awaiting  him  were  silent. 

When  the  circuit  was  completed,  there  was  a  sud- 
den relief  of  restraint;  every  one  talked  freely. 

Fannie  Brown  came  forward  and  asked  him  which 
was  his  favorite  hymn,  and  when  he  hesitated  to 
make  choice  of  the  many  good  things  in  the  Moody 
and  Sankey  books,  she  chose  three  herself,  and  hav- 
ing distributed  the  books,  sat  down  at  the  melodeon 
and  led  the  company,  supported  by  a  muffled  bass 
from  the  hall  and  the  kitchen. 

The  announcement  that  supper  was  ready  in  the 
kitchen  brought  another  hush  upon  the  company,  for, 
in  Clintonville  society  there  was  observed  a  certain 
becoming  gravity  when  they  were  summoned  to  the 
serious  business  of  eating. 

As  soon  as  the  announcement  was  made  all  con- 
versation ceased,  a  self-restraint  of  manner  was  ap- 
parent, and  an  absence  of  anything  like  unseemly 
haste  to  go  to,  or  even  turn  toward  the  kitchen  door. 
The  hostess  was  expected  to  go  round  to  each  guest 
and  with  some  pleasant  quip  or  more  serious  invita- 
tion urge  their  flagging  steps  toward  the  loaded  table 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  171 

in  the  kitchen.  "  I  hope  you  ain't  left  all  your  ap- 
petite to  home  Mrs.  Shrake. " 

"Well  if  I  had,  Mrs.  Brown,  I  expect  I'd  git  it 
again,  when  I  see  your  biscuits." 

"Of  course  Mrs.  Smith  you'll  not  find  chicken  pie 
like  your'n,  but  sech  as  it  is,  you're  welcome  to  it." 

"  Law  Miss  Brown  how  you  do  take  on,  my  hus- 
band makes  me  real  jealous  when  he  tells  me  about 
that  pie  o'  your'n  he  tasted,  when  he  was  helpin' 
raise  your  barn." 

"  If  you  can  stand  my  butter  Miss  Pelton,  I  hope 
you'll  make  yourself  to  home  at  the  supper-table." 

"  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  a  word  said  agin 
your  butter;  but,  comin'  from  yourself,  I  suppose 
you  ken  stand  it." 

With  more  familiar  friends  there  was  greater  free- 
dom. 

"Law  sakes!  Amanda,  I've  seen  you  eat  in  this 
house,  till  I  was  fairly  amazed  to  see  what  you  could 
hold.  Now,  you  go  and  show  the  rest  on  'em  that 
there  ain't  nothin'  wrong  with  them  vittles. " 

Such  appeals  were  met  with  a  smile  and  shake  of 
the  head,  and  sometimes  with  a  "Law!  how  Miss 
Brown  does  take  on, "  and  the  subject  of  appeal  would 
bridle  and  march  into  the  kitchen.  The  young  pas- 
tor was  led  by  Mrs.  Brown  to  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  asked  to  say  grace. 

Then  decorum  required  that  all  should  stand 
around,  and  with  great  solemnity,  view  the  feast. 
It  was  in  order  at  this  time  to  make  whispered  com- 
ments loud  enough  for  the  hostess  to  hear  on  the 
golden  color  of  the  butter,  the  lightness  of  the  bis- 


172  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

cuit,  the  puffiness  of  the  paste  on  the  chicken  pie, 
the  size  and  splendor  of  the  turkey. 

It  was  then  in  order  for  the  hostess  to  invite  them 
to  begin  the  feast  with  some  pleasantry. 

"  If  you  set  such  store  by  them  biscuit,  Miss 
Jones,  I  don't  see  why  you  don't  find  out  whether 
they  taste  as  good  as  they  looks." 

"  I  say  Mr.  Brown,  you're  wanted  in  here  to  carve 
this  turkey.  Why  don't  you  men  in  the  hall  step 
right  in  and  help  yourselves  first,  and  the  women 
afterward." 

This  brought  the  men  straggling  in  shamefacedly. 

They  clustered  in  the  far  corner  and  eyed  with 
fixed. gaze,  in  unbroken  silence,  the  women  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room  or  Farmer  Brown  as  he  carved 
the  great  turkey. 

Hiram  Shrake,  the  deacon's  oldest  boy  looked 
stiffly  out  from  his  white  shirt  front  at  pretty  Sue 
Pelton,  standing  demurely'on  the  other  side  of  the 
room  with  her  eyes  downcast.  Was  that  the  girl 
that  he  had  chased  across  the  meadow  this  afternoon, 
when  she  dared  him  to  catch  her  and  kiss  her  if  he 
could.  She  had  outrun  him;  but  he  could  catch  her 
now.  He  shivered  to  think  what  the  effect  on  the 
company  would  be  if  he  did  it,  and  claimed  the  for- 
feit, then  and  there. 

The  silence  was  such  that  you  could  hear  the  fat 
sizzle  as  the  Farmer  cut  off  great,  generous  slices. 

But  when  this  preliminary  work  was  gotten  through 
with,  and  they  were  all  seated  and  helped,  and  had 
begun  to  eat,  then  the  more  genial  and  homely  sur- 
roundings of  the  kitchen,  the  absence  of  the  horse- 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  173 

hair  furniture,  ingrain  carpets  and  mantel  ornaments 
began  to  tell  on  the  spirits  of  the  company,  and  the 
"  Sociable  "  closed  in  a  way  to  justify  its  name. 

The  donation  party  to  Mr.  Forrester  was  a  differ- 
ent kind  of  entertainment,  a  combined  festival  and 
fair.  The  old  minister's  powers  did  not  extend  to 
the  consumption  of  all  the  good  things  with  which 
his  host  of  friends  were  sure  to  testify  their  good- 
will. 

It  would  not  please  them  to  think  these  good  things 
were  turned  over  to  fill  the  larder  of  the  inn;  and  so 
they  made  an  arrangement  to  consume  them  on  the 
spot,  and,  that  the  old  rector  might  benefit  by  this 
arrangement,  the  attendants  at  the  donation  party 
were  expected  to  take  their  supper  there  and  pay  for 
it.  Articles  too  bulky,  not  cooked,  or  otherwise, 
unsuitable  for  the  supper  were  auctioned  off  to  the 
highest  bidder,  and  the  proceeds  of  these  sales  were 
handed  to  Mr.  Forrester. 

An  odd  consequence  of  this  method  was,  that, 
sometimes,  a  farmer's  wife  who  had  brought  a  great 
pound  cake  which  was  left  over  from  the  supper, 
would  find  her  husband  loyally  bidding  a  fine  price 
for  his  wife's  cake,  and  in  the  end  it  would  be 
knocked  down  to  him  at  about  twice  its  value,  and 
they  would  carry  it  home  again,  not  quite  sure  in 
mind  whether  they  had  been  gainers  or  losers  by  the 
transaction. 

There  was  none  of  that  awkward  stiffness  which 
had  made  Dinsmore  shrink  from  having  the  honor 
conferred  on  him. 

It  was  a  brisk,  cool  Fall  evening  and  every  one 


174  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

came  into  the  warm  room  with  blood  astir  and  nerves 
keyed  up,  by  the  bracing,  frosty  air.  Mr.  Forrester 
knew  them  all  well,  many  of  them  from  the  cradle. 
Fred  Hutton  was  there,  and  he  wore  starched  shirts 
every  day  of  the  year.  Judge  Lowther  and  Mary 
were  among  the  guests,  and  Mother  Livingston. 
These  were  all  people  who  received  callers  in  their 
parlors,  ate  in  dining-rooms,  with  carpeted  floors, 
and  used  the  kitchen  only  for  cooking. 

Mrs.  Hollis  came  gasping  downstairs,  Amelia  Ann 
wore  a  pale  blue  silk,  and  Mrs.  Keene  came  to  see 
the  novel  sight  of  a  donation  party. 

Eli  Hilton,  who  felt  that  the  party  owed  its  exist- 
ence to  him,  came  in,  a  little  late,  with  his  mother 
on  his  arm,  wearing  for  the  only  time  in  her  life  a 
black  silk  dress,  the  first  and,  as  she  declared,  the 
last  that  she  ever  would  buy.  "  It  cost  a  terrible 
sight "  she  whispered  to  mother  Livingston.  She 
saw  the  old  lady's  eyes  on  her,  the  minute  she  entered 
the  room,  and  the  crooked  forefinger  began  to  play 
across  the  old  lady's  lips.  Mrs.  Hilton  was  sure 
that  it  must  seem  a  sinful  waste,  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs. 
Livingston,  for  a  woman,  at  her  time  of  life,  to  buy 
such  a  dress  as  that.  So  she  made  her  way  over  to 
the  sofa  on  which  the  old  dame  sat  hunched  up  in 
the  corner,  and  without  more  ado  burst  out  with  the 
confession  on  the  one  subject  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

"Yes!  it  did  cost  a  terrible  sight;  but  you  see, 
Eli,  he  knowed  that,  about  twelve  years  ago  come 
Christmas,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  have  a  real 
silk  dress;  and  I  had  the  samples  in  the  house,  I  was 
trying  them  for  spots  with  water,  and  for  fadin'  with 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  175 

a  hot  iron.  You  see  I  knowed  it  would  need  to  be 
turned  in  time,  and  the  seams  would  have  to  be 
pressed,  and  I  wanted  to  be  sure  which  kind  would 
stand  the  iron. 

"Well!  the  very  night  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
which  sample  I'd  buy  from,  our  barn  burned  down. 
As  soon  as  I  saw  the  fire  I  said  'there  goes  my  black 
silk.'  Well  I  spose  Eli  has  heard  me  tell  that  story 
forty  times  since  then;  and  the  last  time  I  told  it  he 
says,  'I  guess  you  better  quit  telling  that  tale, 
mother;  and  the  only  way  I  see  to  stop  it,  will  be 
for  you  to  get  that  dress. ' 

"Quick's  a  wink,  I  says  its  too  late  now,  Eli — I'd 
look  like  an  old  fool  in  a  black  silk  dress  with  hair 
as  gray  as  mine  is.  He  up  and  says  4I  want  the 
girls  to  know  that  the  women  folks  o'  my  family  can 
dress  in  silk  if  they  choose  to. '  Well !  you  know, 
Mrs.  Livingston  I  had  set  my  heart  on  Eli's  getting 
a  good  wife  before  I'm  gone;  then  the  dress  will  an- 
swer for  me  to  wear  at  his  weddin' ;  and  I'm  sure 
there's  nothin'  could  be  so  suitable  to  lay  me  out  in 
— I  alius  did  fancy  a  corpse  in  black  silk — It  sets 'em 
off  so;  and  they  do  look  the  perfect  lady. — So, 
takin'  it  by  and  large,  it  didn't  seem  to  me  a  useless 
waste,"  and  then  she  paused  for  the  old  dame's  reply. 

The  old  dame  passed  her  crooked  finger  to  and 
fro,  her  eyes  twinkled,  and  after  a  pause,  she  an- 
swered quietly,  "  I  do  think  you've  laid  out  use 
enough  for  that  dress  to  make  it  worth  while  to  buy 
it,  if  it  didn't  come  higher  than  silk  dresses  usually 
do." 

"What  do  you  think  o'  the  set  0'  it,  Mrs.  Liv- 


176  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

ingston.  It's  city-made;  I  sent  'em  my  old  alpaca 
tellin  'em  I  was  a  leetle  fuller  in  figger  than  when 
that  was  made.  That  was  all  they  had  to  go  by, 
and  I  think  they  did  wonderful.  This  is  the  fust 
time  I've  worn  it  out,  and  I  feel  a  little  strange  to 
it.  I've  had  it  four  weeks.  I  wear  it  Sunday  morn- 
ings an  hour,  before  church-time.  I  haven't  had  the 
face  to  wear  it  to  church.  Silk  does  rustle  awful 
loud  in  a  still  church,  and  our  pew,  till  last  Sunday, 
was  'way  front.  I  had  thought  of  waitin'  till  the 
fust  hymn  was  bein'  sung,  and,  under  cover  o'  that, 
gittin'  into  our  pew ;  but  then  folks  would  ha'  thought 
I  had  come  late  just  to  show  off  my  dress.  I  don't 
see  no  other  way  than  just  to  git  used  to  it  by  wearin' 
it  regular  to  home  and  then,  some  Sunday  mornin', 
just  walkin'  off,  careless  like,  to  church  tryin'  to 
think  to  myself  that  I  had  forgot  to  change  it  till 
'twas  too  late.  I  spose  folks  gits  used  to  them, 
like  they  do  to  anything  else;  don't  they  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  old  dame,  with  a  gentle 
smile,  "you'll  get  used  to  it  Mrs.  Hilton.  I've 
known  harder  things  than  that  to  get  used  to." 

As  Mary  Lowther  came  up  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston, Mrs.  Hilton  moved  away,  slowly,  for  the  silk 
creaked  when  she  moved  fast ;  and  she  did  not  want 
it  to  become,  too  suddenly,  the  object  of  attention 
from  the  whole  company. 

She  wanted  to  give  Eli  a  word  of  warning;  she 
felt  that  he  would  be  reckless  with  his  money,  though 
no  one  else  thought  of  him  as  a  spendthrift.  Tne 
supper   would  cost  twenty-five  cents,  Eli  would  be 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  177 

sure  to  take  two  girls,  to  avoid  suspicion ;  then  there 
was  his  supper  and  her  own,  that  would  make  one 
dollar;  there  was  lemonade,  which  was  extra,  and 
there  was  no  telling  how  much  he  would  spend  on 
this;  there  was  a  candy-stand  besides. 

She  was  too  late.  She  found  him  at  the  candy- 
stand  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  girls,  and  overheard 
him  say,  "  Havin'  a  good  time  Miranda?" 

"Oh!  just  splendid  Eli!" 

"  Enjoying  it  are  ye?" 

"Oh!  more'n  enjoyin'  it!" 

"  How'd  ye  like  the  lemonade  ?" 

"Oh!  it  was  splendid!" 

"  How's  them  gum-drops  Sally  Hill  ?" 

"Oh!  ain't  they  good!     They're  just  awful  nice. " 

"Which  flavor  did  you  take,  rose  or  lemon?" 

"  Well  I  took  rose  'cause  they  was  so  pretty  in 
color,  but  I  wish  now  I'd  a' took  lemon.  They  seem 
to  last  longer." 

"  Let  me  get  you  a  paper  of  lemons  and  you  can 
try  first  one  then  tother  and  see  which  you  gets  the 
most  chaw  out  of." 

At  this  sally  there  was  a  chorus  of  laughter.  As 
Eli  stepped  out  of  the  circle  to  buy  the  lemon  drops, 
Mrs.  Hilton  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "Ain't  you 
goin'  a  little  too  far  Eli?  Remember  them  girls  can 
chew  gum-drops  all  night;  and  you  ain't  got  no  call 
to  give  'em  all  they  ask  for." 

"Well  mother  they  enjoy  it;  and  one  dollar  and 
fifty  cents  ain't  nothin'  to  me,  if  I  see  a  girl  enjoyin' 
things." 

With  a  sigh,  she  let  him  have  his  way,  comforting 

12 


173  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

herself  with  the  thought  that  this  lavish  expenditure 
might  make  the  girls  feel  that  Eli's  wife  would  have 
pretty  much  anything  in  reason  that  she  asked  for. 

Fred  Hutton  and  Amelia  Ann  were  standing  watch- 
ing the  group.  Eli  stopped  in  passing,  "  Mealy  I  want 
you  to  come  down  and  see  a  Lafayette  Watch  that  I 
picked  up  for  a  mere  song  the  last  time  I  was  in  the 
city  " ;  for  Eli  was  a  collector  of  antiques  when  they 
could  be  had  at  the  price  named  for  this  one. 

"Thank  you  Eli,  your  antiques  always  interest 
me;  for  they  are  generally  as  cheap  as  they  are  old, 
and  I  never  feel  that  money  has  been  thrown  away 
on  them,"  and  Amelia  smiled  on  Fred,  who  responded 
with  a  giggle. 

"I  know  antiques  always  interest  you  Mealy;  they 
are  a  sort  of  let  up  from  Fred,"  and  Eli  had  his  turn 
to  laugh. 

"  If  you  want  to  add  some  genuine  antiques  to 
your  collection,  Eli,  you  ought  to  look  up  your  toys 
when  you  were  a  child,"  retorted  Amelia,  "They 
would  grace  the  collection  of  any  museum." 

Eli  laughed  heartily,  "So  they  would  Mealy;  but 
you  ought  not  to  try  that  joke  on  this  generation  of 
boys.  Fred,  it  was  thirty-six  years,  come  Thanks- 
giving that  she  got  off  that  joke  on  me,  at  Deacon 
Shelton's dinner.  I  felt  sore  about  it  then;  but  she's 
repeated  it  about  every  five  years  till  the  sting  is  out 
of  it,  and  its  only  fun  now."  Miss  Amelia  flushed, 
drew  her  thin  lips  together  tightly  over  her  large 
prominent  teeth,  for  a  caustic  answer;  but  Eli  fore- 
stalled her,  with  a  wicked  twinkle  in  his  eye  and  an 
elaborate  bow  as  he  said  "  Upon  my  word,  Mealy; 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  179 

you  hold  your  own  well,  you  don't  look  a  year  older 
than  you  did  at  that  Thanksgiving  dinner;"  and  he 
turned  again  to  the  gum-drop  counter  before  Amelia 
could  gasp  out  her  reply. 

Her  eyes  glowed,  her  cheek  flushed  with  anger, 
Fred  Hutton  giggled. 

"  A  nasty,  sour,  old  bachelor  is  the  meanest  thing 
on  earth  "  she  said ;  then  as  she  saw  Fred's  suppressed 
mirth;  "except  a  giggling  boy,"  she  added.  "Don't 
be  a  fool,  Fred." 

To  which  Fred's  response  was  to  burst  out  into 
open  and  irrepressible  laughter. 

Amelia  turned  away  disgusted  with  men,  and  began 
to  enlighten  Mrs.  Keene  as  to  some  of  the  people 
with  comments  which,  if  they  had  not  the  glitter,  had 
at  least  the  hardness  of  steel. 

Judge  Lowther  joined  them.  "  I  have  had  an 
amusing  afternoon  on  the  bench  "  he  said  "  It  is  not 
often  that  the  stern  duty  of  finding  out  and  punishing 
the  crimes  of  your  fellow  men  are  relieved  by  such  a 
racy  scene." 

"  Let  us  hear  it  Judge  ",  said  Mrs.  Keene,  turning 
towards  him  in  an  attitude  of  delighted  attention. 

"  Pat  Dunn  a  full-bearded,  wild-eyed  Irishman  was 
before  me  on  a  charge  of  beating  his  wife  with  a 
shovel,  with  intent  to  kill  her.  He  said  that  he  had 
no  money,  and  no  counsel,  and  asked  me  to  telegraph 
for  the  British  Consul;  'For  I  belong  to  the  king- 
dom of  Great  Britain,'  he  said  with  a  strong  accent 
on  the  Great.  In  the  absence  of  Her  Majesty's 
Consul  I  assigned  him  counsel,  but  he  would  have 
none  of  him,  and  preferred  to  defend  himself.     His 


i8o  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

wife  burst  into  tears,  when  I  told  her  to  uncover  her 
head  and  show  the  wounds.  'I  don't  want  to  show 
it;  I  don't  want  to  do  him  harum,'  'The  fine  girl!  ' 
muttered  Dunn,  'It's  like  her  kind  heart.'  The 
next  witness  was  John  Bing  the  constable.  'Aren't 
you  an  informer  of  the  corrupt  police,'  roared  Dunn, 
in  cross-examination.  'I  am  not '  said  Bing.  'Don't 
you  know  that  I  treated  my  wife  right,  and  that  in 
testifying  against  me,  Sir,  you  are  depriving  a  family 
of  a  good  husband  and  father,  that  is  supportin'  them 
in  fine  style  ?'  shouted  Dunn.  'I  do  not '  replied  Bing. 
'When  you  had  me  under  arrest  on  another  false 
charge  didn't  you  try  to  beat  a  confession  out  o'  me 
with  your  blackthorn?'  'I  did  not '  replied  Bing.  'Yes 
you  did  '  roared  Dunn,  'and  you  told  me  that  you'd 
like  to  mash  my  fine  nose  as  fiat  as  your  own  mug. ' 
"  Two  more  witnesses  closed  the  case,  and  I  asked 
Dunn  how  long  he  wanted  to  sum  up.  He  said  he 
would  need  two  hours,  and  I  gave  him  twenty  min- 
utes. He  used  up  most  of  his  time  in  denouncing 
the  charge  as  a  conspiracy  against  Her  Majesty's 
subject.  In  one  part  of  his  harangue  he  said  'Man 
is  fallen,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  every  man  is  at 
some  time  a  brute.  Man  is  frail  and  is  prone  to  beat 
his  wife.  You  should  all  sympathize  with  me,  gen- 
tlemen, and  join  me  in  putting  down  this  conspiracy. 
My  wife  fell  down  stairs,  poor  soul,  and  hurted  her- 
self severely,  and  you  should  spare  her  the  suffering 
of  seeing  me  disgraced,  who  never  laid  a  hand  to 
her.'  The  jury  promptly  convicted  him.  I  asked 
his  lawyer  if  had  any  objection  to  sentence  being 
passed,  he  said  he  had  not.     Then  I  asked  Dunn — 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  181 

"'I  have'  he  said,  'I  demand  a  new  trial.  I  do 
not  consent  to  abide  by  this  one.  Give  me  a  new 
trial,  Judge,  or  I  swear  that  I  renounce  allegiance  to 
the  United  States,  and  will  go  back  to  the  Crown  of 
Great  Britain.' 

"All  this  in  a  fine  rich  brogue,  which  I  cannot  re- 
produce," and  the  Judge  laughed  heartily,  as  he  re- 
called the  scene. 

"And  what  will  be  the  punishment  of  such  a 
brute?"  asked  Mrs.  Keene. 

"  I  haven't  sentenced  him  "  answered  the  Judge. 
"  He  may  get  three  or  five  years  at  hard  labor  in  the 
State's  prison.  But  his  wife  begs  hard  for  a  light 
sentence." 

"That  is  the  old  story;  the  patient,  forbearing, 
long-suffering  woman  pleading  for  the  man  that  has 
broken  every  vow  he  made  to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Keene. 

"Yes,  Yes,"  said  the  Judge,  uneasily,  "I  agree 
with  you  Mrs.  Keene." 

"  Only  a  woman  can  know  what  it  is  to  have  her 
natural  protector  turn  into  her  foe.  But  this  woman 
has  some  one  to  do  her  justice.  It  must  be  a  grand 
thing  to  sit  as  a  judge  righting  the  wrongs  of  the 
weak  and  oppressed,"  and  Mrs.  Keene  looked  up 
into  the  Judge's  face. 

"Well,  sometimes,  I  don't  know  about  it  always. 
Your  judgment  is  sometimes  reversed  on  appeal  ",  said 
the  judge,  as  he  moved  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Livingston, 
who  had  been  watching  him  as  he  talked  to  Mrs. 
Keene. 

It  was  a  merry  scene  as  the  evening  wore  on. 
The  three  long  tables  in  the  dining-room  of  the  Inn 


I »2  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

were  filled  with  a  jovial  party;  the  hot  supper,  the 
lemonade  and  the  gum-drops  contributed  to  make 
their  joy  more  unconfined.  They  were  not  under  the 
restraint  of  conventional  rules,  and  none  were  afraid 
to  give  voice  and  laugh  free  swing,  amid  the  merry 
din  that  filled  the  room. 

Mr.  Forrester  moved  about  like  a  genial  old 
spirit,  stirring  up  mirth  wherever  he  went,  leaving 
many  a  blushing  girl  in  his  wake;  for  if  his  jokes 
had  been  effective,  the  whole  party  of  young  people 
would  have  been  mated  without  more  ado. 

He  expected  one  or  more  wedding-fees  as  the  re- 
sult of  one  of  his  donation  parties;  and  he  was  not 
always  disappointed. 

He  was  a  matrimonial  promoter,  little  reason  as 
he  had  for  regarding  it  as  a  blessed  estate.  In  these 
ventures  he  got  the  fee  and  there  his  responsibility 
ended. 

For  the  older  people  he  had  a  pleasant  word  or 
jest,  a  story  about  the  time  when  they  too  were 
young,  and  always  a  word  of  apology  or  defence  for 
the  boisterous  merriment  of  the  young  people;  so 
that  every  one  united  in  pronouncing  one  of  Mr.  For- 
rester's donation  parties,  "a  jolly  lark." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

ABOUT  ten  days  after  Mr.  Forrester's  donation 
party,  when  life  at  Clintonville  had  settled 
down  to  its  wonted  routine,  Dinsmore  stood  on  the 
balcony  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  stage.  On  his 
right  was  Mrs.  Keene,  with  a  fur  wrap  thrown  over 
her  shoulders,  to  his  left  Mrs.  Hollis  stood  with  a 
black  cashmere  shawl  over  her  head  and  held  tightly 
under  her  chin,  which  threw  into  bold  relief  her 
gaunt,  pale  face. 

The  October  sunset  glowed  amber  toward  the 
West,  streaked  near  the  horizon  with  a  deep  orange 
red,  and  fading  off  toward  the  South  into  violet  and 
gray,  against  which  the  "  Barrens  "  were  outlined  in 
deep,  misty  purple. 

The  old  coach  loomed  like  a  ship  at  sea,  as  it  came 
lumbering  over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the  passengers 
on  top  silhouetted  against  the  violet  gray  sky. 

As  it  drew  nearer  to  the  Inn  some  familiar  look  in 
the  pose  of  one  of  these  figures  on  the  top  made  Dins- 
more  scrutinize  it  more  closely,  and  as  the  stage 
drew  up  before  the  door,  all  doubt  was  dispelled, 
when  there  rang  out,  in  clear,  strong  tones,  like  the 
herald  at  the  head  of  an  advancing  army,  "Hello! 
old  Harry!  Pax  vobiscum,  your  Reverence." 

It  was  Tom  Whitlock,  an  old  law  chum  of  Dins- 
183 


1 84  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

more's  in  Judge  Channing's  office.  He  was  a  loyal 
son  of  Stentor,  and  his  greeting  was  so  loud  and 
hearty  that  the  village  street  seemed  invaded  by  an 
army  corps. 

It  rather  disconcerted  Dinsmore,  but  he  hurried 
down  to  greet  his  old  friend,  and  help  him  unload 
his  traps  his  dog  and  gun  and  array  of  hunting  gear; 
for  Tom  had  come  to  try  the  partridge  shooting  and, 
armed  with  all  the  necessary  outfit  and  a  letter  to 
Judge  Lowther  from  Judge  Channing,  felt  confident 
that  he  was  secure  of  good  sport,  under  ample  pro- 
tection. His  foot  was  hardly  on  the  ground  before 
he  opened  on  Dinsmore  a  battery  of  questions. 

"  I  say,  your  Reverence,  are  there  any  birds  in 
your  parish  ?  Do  the  farmers  object  to  a  man's 
hunting  through  their  fields?  Will  a  letter  to  Judge 
Lowther  let  me  in  for  some  sport  ?  Who  was  that 
trim  filly  beside  you  on  the  balcony,  not  your  wife, 
eh?  Did  she  hire  that  old  witch  to  stand  on  your 
other  side,  as  a  foil  ?  Is  there  much  game  of  that 
kind  here,  for  an  evening's  sport  or  a  rainy  day's 
hunt?     How  go  the  girls  of  this  rural  parish  ?" 

Tom  could  not  modulate  his  voice  to  a  prudent 
tone,  even  when  he  tried  to  do  it,  and  Dinsmore's 
chief  concern  was  to  get  him  under  cover. 

"  Get  your  traps  together  and  come  to  your  room, 
and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know,"  he  said,  as  he  picked 
up  the  gun-case  and  led  the  way. 

The  door  was  scarcely  shut  before  Tom  began 
again  "Who  is  the  trim  filly?     Not  yet  your  wife?" 

"  Her  name  is  Keene,  she  is  a  widow  with  one 
little  boy,"  said  Dinsmore. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  1 85 

"A  widow! — Why  man  alive  she  is  not  a  day  over 
twenty,  trig  as  a  girl;  and  such  a  pose!"  rattled  on 
Tom. 

"  But  widows  were  too  much  for  Weller,  and  she 
has  all  the  elements  to  make  her  as  fatal  as  the  worst 
of  'em.  Look  out,  Harry,  my  boy,  she  is  not  to  be 
trifled  with,  she  knows  the  whole  game,  having  played 
it  to  a  check-mate;  you  only  know  the  opening." 

"I  ought  to  revise  my  first  statement;  she  is  not 
exactly  a  widow;  she  has  recently  been  divorced 
from  her  husband;  who  must  have  been  a  perfect 
brute." 

"Oh!  ho!  worse  and  worse,  a  widow  may  have 
been  softened  by  affliction ;  but  a  divorcee  has  simply 
played  the  game  out  to  the  end,  with  a  cool  head 
and  a  firm  hand.  Moreover,  she  has  none  of  that 
sentimental  regard  for  her  previous  partner  which 
surrounds  him  with  an  impossible  aureole  of  noble 
attributes;  he  is  simply  a  blunder  which  she  has 
committed  and  which  she  proposes  to  rectify  in  her 
next  selection;  or  he  is  an  impersonality  merged  into 
the  sex  male,  and  she  will  get  even  with  the  said  sex 
male  by  taking  to  herself  another,  and  making  him 
live  the  life  of  a  dog.  My  guileless  friend,  Heaven 
forefend  you  from  the  pitfalls  with  which  your  path 
is  strewn." 

"Nonsense,  Tom!  how  you  let  your  tongue  run 
away  with  your  brains.  One  would  think  I  had  an- 
nounced to  you  my  desperate  infatuation  with  Mrs. 
Keene  "  interrupted  Harry. 

"Not  infatuation,  not  so  far  or  so  bad  as  that; 
but  I  confess  that  I  was  startled  by  that  expression 


1 86  A  HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

'brute  of  a  husband.'  Those  little  straws  do  sug- 
gest the  quarter  from  which  the  wind  blows,  to  a 
man  of  the  world." 

"  All  right,  Tom,  when  my  common  sense  gives 
out,  I  will  draw  on  you  at  sight,  for  a  check  of 
worldly  wisdom." 

"  Then  it  will  be  too  late.  I  want  to  keep  the 
balance  in  your  favor,"  laughed  Tom. 

"  But  enough  of  this,  Verbum  sat.  Have  you  any 
flowers  not  bred  in  a  conservatory,  native  to  the 
soil,  wild,  sweet,  fragrant,  blushing,  unwooed.  I 
have  a  letter  to  Judge  Lowther,  has  he  any  family?" 

"Yes,  one  daughter." 

"Her  age?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.     I  never  asked  her." 

"  At  a  guess,  should  you  say  twenty  or  forty,"  per- 
sisted Tom. 

"Well,  certainly  nearer  twenty  than  forty." 

"  Give  me  her  points,  size,  color  of  hair,  and  eyes, 
complexion,  previous  condition  of  servitude?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that 
last." 

"  I  mean,  engaged  or  not,  affections  enlisted  or 
fancy  free?" 

"  It  is  not  part  of  my  duty  as  a  pastor  to  inquire 
into  these  matters,"  answered  Dinsmore. 

"Well  unless  the  black  cloth  has  wrought  a  mighty 
change  on  your  mental  composition,  I  don't  believe 
you  knew  the  girl  two  weeks  before  you  had  your 
opinion  pretty  well  formed  on  this  point." 

"  Let's  go  down  to  supper  ",  answered  Dinsmore. 

"Let's  hear  what  is  Miss  Lowther  like,"  retorted 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  187 

Whitlock.  "  You  were  fly  enough  with  your  infor- 
mation as  to  Mrs.  Keene.  Is  Miss  Lowther  such  a 
cipher  that  she  is  indescribable.  What's  the  matter 
with  her?  Is  she  hump-backed,  or  an  imbecile? 
Out  with  it." 

"What  nonsense,  Tom,  come  to  supper;  after  sup- 
per I  have  to  go  to  Judge  Lowther's  and  you  can 
come  along  and  present  your  letter,  and  see  Miss 
Lowther  for  yourself." 

"  All  right.  But  this  mystery  I  will  fathom,  this 
riddle  I  will  solve,  if  I  have  to  give  up  my  whole  va- 
cation to  it." 

At  supper  Whitlock's  curiosity  as  to  Mrs.  Keene 
was  set  at  rest  by  an  introduction  and  a  seat  beside 
her,  with  Dinsmore  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
Mrs.  Hollis  and  Amelia  Ann  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  So  you  are  fresh  from  the  great,  gay  city, 
Mr.  Whitlock,  and  can  tell  us  plain  country-folk 
something  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  world;"  and 
Mrs.  Keene  smiled  as  she  saw  Miss  Amelia  bridle  at 
this. 

"  No,  Mrs.  Keene,  I  cannot  lay  claim  to  be  in 
touch  with  anything  in  New  York,  but  a  lawyer's 
office,"  answered  Whitlock. 

"You  must  be  a  paragon  of  diligence,  if  day  and 
night  you  hang  over  those  musty  law-books.  Even 
a  stroll  along  a  city  street,  the  men  and  women  that 
one  meets  on  a  single  block,  are  an  education  to  us 
who  are  stagnating  on  these  hill-tops.  Thus  much 
of  society  you  must  allow  yourself  even  in  going  to 
and  from  your  office." 

"  I  remember  the  bon  mot  about  knowing  a  woman 


1 88  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

being  equivalent  to  a  liberal  education;  but  passing 
them  on  the  street,  is  hardly  enough  to  educate  one. 
It  is  merely  tantalizing  to  pass  a  face,  in  which  there 
seems  great  possibilities,  that  you  will  never  be  able 
to  realize.      Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Yes,  that  may  be  one  view  to  take  of  it,  another 
might  be  the  determination  to  find  that  face  again 
and  test  its  possibilities.  But  if  the  crowd  tantalizes 
you,  perhaps  you  are  come  among  us  to  take  up  some 
of  these  human  possibilities  seriatim  try  them  one  by 
one,  as  you  find  them  scattered  on  the  waysides?  If 
that  is  your  mission,  I  will  go  about  warning  the 
young  rustic  maidens.  I  am  the  guardian  of  these 
simple-hearted  damsels.  I  have  warned  another 
young  man  that  he  is  not  at  liberty  to  break  hearts 
without  interference  from  me,"  and  she  gave  Dins- 
more  a  knowing  smile. 

Tom  Whitlock  laughed  heartily,  Dinsmore  frowned 
slightly,  and  added,  "  Mr.  Whitlock  is  here  to  spend 
a  short  vacation  in  his  favorite  pastime,  partridge 
hunting." 

"Against  that  I  have  nothing  to  say,  especially  if 
he  brings  the  partridges  to  the  Inn.  Did  it  ever 
strike  you  how  strong  the  predatory  instinct  is  in 
men.  They  are  always  hunting  something,  pursuing, 
chasing,  bringing  down  innocent  creatures.  They 
call  them  'game  '  and  seem  to  think  that  gives  them 
a  right  to  hurt  and  kill  or  capture.  Women  are  not 
so. 

"  It  is  a  survival  of  the  primal  instincts  of  man, 
when  hunting  was  his  only  or  chief  means  of  subsist- 
ence," answered  Dinsmore. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  189 

"  It  seems  to  me  "  broke  in  Whitlock  "  that  there 
is  merely  a  difference  of  method.  Men  hunt,  and 
women  net  their  game." 

"Women  are  put  on  the  defensive  by  men,  and 
must  have  recourse  to  the  only  methods  that  are 
within  their  reach,  finesse  and  tact,"  answered  Mrs. 
Keene,  warmly. 

Whitlock  burst  out  laughing;  Mrs.  Keene  replied 
to  the  laugh  with  a  touch  of  asperity  in  her  tone, 
"  Men  do  not  care  to  hunt  game  that  is  too  easily 
caught.     What  is  that  couplet  about 

"  '  The  toy  so  fiercely  sought 

Hath  lost  its  charm  by  being  caught  ;  ' 

and  it  is  true." 

"Oh!  yes,  no  question  of  it,"  replied  Whitlock, 
still  laughing.  "  But  my  remark  was  intended  to 
apply  not  to  the  hunted  ones,  who,  chased  by  a  too 
eager  pursuer,  throw  here  and  there  a  lure  or  pitfall 
in  his  way  to  make  him  halt,  and  turn,  and  so  give 
them  a  breathing  spell.  I  think,  to  an  onlooker, 
such  a  game  as  that,  well  played,  is  very  pretty  sport ; 
and  I  am  always  with  the  hare  rather  than  the  hound. 
But,  unless  my  eyes  have  misled  me,  I  have  seen  the 
game  reversed,  and  the  net  laid  with  great  care,  cau- 
tion and  skill  directly  across  the  path  where  the  sup- 
posed hunter  was  wont  to  stroll  without  any  thought 
of  hunting.  If  I  am  wrong,  you  can  correct  me 
Mrs.  Keene.  And  so  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
sport  went  on  from  both  sides;  but  with  different 
kinds  of  weapons," 

"  You  need  hardly  appeal  to  me  for  correction,  Mr. 


190  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Whitlock,  you  seem  able  to  draw  your  own  conclu- 
sions," answered  Mrs.  Keene. 

"We  all  draw  our  conclusions,"  laughed  Whitlock, 
"  even  if  they  are  only  snap  shots.  But  I  would  like 
to  have,  from  some  woman  competent  to  tell  the 
truth  on  the  subject,  an  answer  to  these  two  ques- 
tions. Are  there  not  more  women  flirts  than  men 
flirts?  Are  not  women  greater  adepts  at  the  art, 
especially  in  that  most  subtle  phase  of  it  viz:  making 
the  man  believe  that  he  is  the  only  one?  Can't  you 
give  me  an  answer  Mrs.  Keene?" 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Whitlock;  I  must  disclaim  being 
'  competent  to  tell  the  truth  on  that  subject,'  as  you 
are  pleased  to  put  it.  It  is  one  of  those  endless  con- 
troversies, for  which  no  answer  will  ever  be  found 
that  will  satisfy  a  majority  of  either  sex." 

"  It  is  a  horrid  man's  notion  that  women  are 
always  flirting  with  them,"  broke  in  Miss  Amelia. 
"I  can  tell  them,  it  isn't  so  half  the  times  they  think 
that  it  is." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Hollis"  said  Tom,  with  the  ut- 
most gravity,  and  a  deferential  bow.  "  That  is  cer- 
tainly an  honest  opinion  on  an  important  phase  of 
the  question,  and  I  shall  note  it  down  for  future 
use." 

Dinsmore  felt  uneasy  and  made  a  move  to  go, 
while  Tom  was  inclined  to  sit  still  and  push  the  con- 
versation to  extremes.  "  If  we  are  going  to  Judge 
Lowther's,  we  had  better  be  moving,"  said  Dins- 
more. 

"Why  so?  The  Judge  doesn't  retire  at  early  can- 
dle light,  does  he?"  answered  Tom. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  191 

"  If  you  are  going  to  Judge  Lowther's  you  will  find 
a  chance  to  put  your  question  to  a  simple  girl  bred 
in  this  country  town,  far  from  the  wiles  that  are 
practised  in  society.  She  is  a  dear,  sweet,  good 
girl,  and  is  under  my  special  care  and  protection.  If 
she  had  had  advantages,  she  would  have  been  a 
match  for  any  of  you,  and  could  have  held  her  own 
without  any  help  from  me." 

"  She  is  entirely  safe,  Mrs.  Keene,  if  you  have 
thrown  your  aegis  over  her  "  said  Whitlock,  in  a  tone 
that  made  Miss  Amelia  titter  with  delight.  "  I  have 
tried  to  get  a  description  of  her  from  my  friend  Dins- 
more;  but  I  take  it  that  he  does  not  know  Miss  Low- 
ther  very  well,  from  the  meagre  scraps  that  were  all 
I  could  gather." 

Mrs.  Keene  turned  on  Dinsmore,  with  an  arch 
smile,  and  lifting  her  eyebrows,  answered  Whitlock, 
"Fairly  well,  I  should  say." 

At  this  Dinsmore  rose,  determined  to  leave  Tom 
alone  rather  than  let  him  run  on,  who  could  tell 
whither. 

Tom  followed  him.  "  She's  a  hollow  one ",  he 
said,  as  they  reached  Dinsmore's  room. 

"You  seemed  to  strike  an  unfortunate  vein,  with 
her,"  Dinsmore  answered;  "  she  didn't  show  her  best 
side." 

"She  led  the  conversation;  and  I  naturally  let  her 
keep  the  lead.  I  don't  like  her.  We  will  fight  when- 
ever and  wherever  we  meet;  and  she  will  lead  off." 

"Nonsense!  she  is  not  of  the  fighting  kind;  she  is 
full  of  tact,  and  persuasive  rather  than  combative," 
replied  Dinsmore. 


192  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"She  may  persuade  you;  but  she  will  make  war 
on  me:  mark  my  words." 

"  Tom,  Tom,  you  are,  as  you  used  to  be,  deter- 
mined that  men  and  things  shall  be  as  you  think  that 
they  are.  I  tell  you  that  you  have  seen  only  one 
side  of  Mrs.  Keene's  character." 

"Which  you  think  is  the  hard  side;  and  I  will  re- 
turn you  the  favor  by  telling  you  that  she  is  letting 
you  feel  that  her  touch  is  as  soft  as  velvet.  Harry, 
don't  let  that  woman  net  you." 

"  You  are  wise  beyond  the  demands  of  the  occa- 
sion, Tom.  Mrs.  Keene  spreads  no  net  for  me;  we 
are  simply  friends  by  virtue  of  her  unfortunate  posi- 
tion and  my  ministerial  office." 

"  Parson  Harry,  beware  '  weave  a  circle  round  her 
thrice,  for  she  on  honey-dew  hath  fed,  and  drunk 
the  milk  of  Paradise.'  She  has  been  in  it;  she  is 
out  of  it;  she  will  be  in  it  again;  or  my  name  is  not 
'  Tom  the  witless,'  as  you  used  to  call  me." 

"As  no  amount  of  discussion  will  settle  this  matter, 
but  only  leave  each  of  us  more  firmly  convinced  that 
he  is  right,  suppose  we  go  up  to  Judge  Lowthers," 
answered  Dinsmore. 

"  I'm  with  you  there,"  said  Whitlock  ;  "  for  I  want 
to  see  whether  you  do  or  do  not  know  that  young 
woman,  and  also  whether  she  is  worth  knowing." 

"  All  right  "  said  Dinsmore,  "  draw  your  own  con- 
clusions and  then  you  are  sure  to  be  satisfied,  whether 
they  are  right  or  wrong." 

On  their  way  up  to  the  Judge's  Dinsmore  had  to 
answer  a  running  fire  of  questions  from  Tom  on 
nearly  every  house  that  they  passed.     He  was  full 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  193 

of  animal  life  and  off  on  a  vacation,  and  he  seemed 
to  think  that  this  out-of-the-way  village  was  teeming 
with  romantic  possibilities.  Dinsmore  laughed  and 
humored  his  whim. 

"That  is  Conan  Hill's  house,  an  old,  unsuccessful 
man  who  has  retired  from  everything  because,  atevery- 
thing  he  tried,  he  lost  money.  He  has  two  daughters, 
Sallie,  the  village  belle  and  wit,  Mary  who  married  a 
young  lawyer  with  brilliant  prospects,  who  gave  her 
a  chance,  for  two  years,  to  see  the  life  of  the  city,  and 
then  died  from  drink,  leaving  her  a  widow,  without 
means,  to  return  to  her  father's  house  and  remem- 
ber her  short-lived  experience  of  the  outside  world." 

"I  want  to  know  Sallie.  I  don't  care  for  Mary; 
those  two  years  have  probably  spoiled  her,"  was 
Tom's  comment. 

The  next  house  was  Mother  Livingston's.  Dins- 
more's  description  of  her  interested  Whitlock.  "  You 
must  take  me  down  to  see  that  old  lady  ",  he  said. 

"This  next  house  "is  Newman  Digg's.  He  is  the 
criminal  lawyer  of  this  district.  Uneducated  except 
by  his  own  efforts,  a  fine  mathematician,  a  first-rate 
chess-player,  an  inveterate  gourmand.  In  his  cellar 
you  will  find  at  almost  any  time  a  dozen  terrapin  fat- 
tening for  his  table.  He  is  a  skilful  engineer  and 
when  he  goes  to  New  York  almost  always  drives  the 
engine.  I  attended  last  summer  a  remarkable  mur- 
der trial,  where  he  was  counsel  for  the  defendant. 
The  trial  turned  on  evidence  of  motive  for  the  mur- 
der. There  was  a  note  which  the  prosecution  put  in 
evidence  showing  that  the  accused  owed  the  mur- 
dered man  a  sum  which  he  could  not  pay. 
13 


194  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  Just  before  recess  Diggs  asked  permission  to  ex- 
amine this  note,  preparatory  to  his  cross-examina- 
tion in  the  afternoon.  He  had  a  photographer  in  an 
adjoining  room,  had  a  photograph  of  the  note  made, 
had  an  expert  penman  on  hand  and  some  old  paper 
of  the  same  kind  as  the  note.  During  the  recess  his 
penman  made  six  facsimiles  of  the  note,  with  a  corner 
torn  off  exactly  like  the  original.  When  the  court 
reassembled  after  recess  Diggs  took  up  the  cross- 
examination  of  the  witness;  asked  him  as  to  the 
note,  whether  he  was  sure  that  he  had  seen  it  and 
could  identify  it,  handed  him  one  of  the  fac-similes, 
asked  him  if  that  was  the  note,  and,  after  he  had 
carefully  identified  it,  handed  him  out  the  remaining 
six,  with  the  true  note  among  them,  and  asked  him 
triumphantly,  whether  he  recognized  them  all." 

"Well  you  have  a  truly  skilful  bar,  with  methods 
unapproached  even  by  our  city  counsel.  But  what 
said  the  Judge  to  this  most  skilful  style  of  practice?" 

"  He  said  '  Mr.  Diggs,  this  is  the  most  extraordinary 
conduct  of  a  case  that  has  ever  fallen  under  my  no- 
tice.    Your  connection  with  this  case  is  terminated. ' 

"  Diggs  picked  up  his  papers,  smiling  broadly, 
bowed  to  the  Judge,  left  the  court-room,  sent  a 
young  lawyer  in  to  take  his  place  and  directed  the 
case  outside  of  court.  He  had  another  case  the 
consequences  of  which  he  could  not  dodge  so  easily. 
He  defended  and  secured  the  acquittal  of  two  noted 
counterfeiters,  and  they  paid  him  his  fee  in  counter- 
feit money.  How  he  did  denounce  those  fellows  and 
consign  them  to  the  penitentiary  from  which  he  had 
freed  them." 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  195 

The  next  tale  of  village  life  was  called  forth  when 
they  passed  Bill  Bennett's  house. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Harry,  you  showed  grit,  if  you 
are  a  parson,"  was  Whitlock's  comment  on  the  story 
of  Dinsmore's  encounter  with  the  smith. 

"Thanks  Tom;  but  I  am  not  willing  to  accept  a 
personal  compliment  at  the  expense  of  my  profession. 
There  is  nothing  in  a  minister's  life  to  make  a  man 
a  coward,  or  there  ought  not  to  be." 

"  All  the  same,  we  don't  expect  ministers  to  show 
as  much  physical  courage  as  other  men,  and  I  think 
you  showed  a  lot  when  you  faced  that  angry  maniac." 

"I  don't,"  answered  Dinsmore,  "it  was  mere  re- 
liance on  the  law  that  mind  would  triumph  over  mat- 
ter, intelligence  over  brute  force.  I  had  every  ad- 
vantage on  my  side,  as  the  result  showed.  And  I'll 
bet  you  that  the  chaplains  of  our  army  showed  as 
much  physical  courage  as  the  surgeons,  in  caring  for 
the  wounded  on  the  field  of  battle." 

"  I  don't  bet  with  parsons, "  replied  Whitlock ;  "  the 
odds  are  in  their  favor." 

By  this  time  the  latch  of  Judge  Lowther's  gate 
saved  Dinsmore  the  necessity  of  a  retort. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

AS  they  walked  up  the  gravel  path  Whitlock  in- 
sisted upon  Dinsmore's  giving  him  the  cue  to 
his  behavior. 

"  Shall  I  talk  law  to  the  Judge  and  love  to  the  girl, 
or  vice  versa"  he  said. 

''You  must  use  your  own  judgment  and  knowledge 
of  the  world,"  retorted  Dinsmore.  "But  do  please 
remember  that  I  am  the  pastor  of  these  people,  and 
hoe  your  own  row  and  not  drag  me  in.  I  don't 
think  you  quite  appreciate  the  situation,  Tom.  We 
are  not  chums  in  a  law  school,  out  for  a  lark  to- 
gether." 

"Oh!  yes,  your  Reverence,  I  see  the  point  and 
will  make  it  plain  hereafter  that  I  am  an  uncircum- 
cised  heathen  and  you  are  a  priest  of  the  temple," 
laughed  Whitlock,  slapping  Dinsmore  on  the  back 
with  a  blow  that  almost  staggered  him.  "  I  suppose 
the  Judge  is  a  sinner  and  Miss  Lowther  a  saint.  I 
flatter  myself  that  I  can  adapt  myself  to  both;  with 
the  Judge  I  am  Channing's  pupil,  with  Miss  Lowther 
I  am  a  disciple  of  her  revered  pastor.  I  think  I 
see  my  way  clear.  I  find  myself  in  a  new  role,  the 
pastor's  friend;  but  I  think  I  can  fill  it." 

Dinsmore  did  not  doubt  that  Tom  could  fill  it,  but 
thus  far  his  method  had  tended  to  bring  such  a  new 
196 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  197 

element  into  his  pastoral  life  that  it  was  rather  dis- 
concerting. But  Tom  was  too  good  and  true  a  fellow 
to  do  intentional  mischief,  and  he  could  say  and  do, 
without  offence,  what  would  make  for  most  other 
men  a  host  of  enemies.  He  was  thoroughly  good  at 
heart,  and  could  laugh  himself  out  of  a  predicament. 

They  were  ushered  into  Judge  Lowther's  study, 
and  found  the  Judge  in  an  easy  chair,  before  a  blaz- 
ing wood  fire  with  his  slippered  feet  on  the  fender, 
and  a  newspaper  in  his  lap;  he  was  listening  to 
Mary  playing  on  the  piano  in  the  next  room. 

As  they  came  into  the  room,  he  held  up  his  fin- 
ger to  silence  Dinsmore's  introduction  of  Whitlock. 
"Listen  to  that,"  he  said.  "Doesn't  she  play  that 
reel  with  spirit.  Upon  my  word,  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
dance  to  her  touch." 

Dinsmore  introduced  Tom,  who  presented  his  let- 
ter of  introduction. 

The  Judge  read  it  through,  before  taking  any  no- 
tice of  either  of  them ;  slowly  and  carefully  he  conned 
every  word,  through  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  as 
though  it  were  an  important  piece  of  evidence  on 
which  he  was  to  render  a  decision.  Then,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  "  Sit  down,  sit  down ;  and  how  is 
Channing?  Busy  as  ever,  I  suppose;  and  with  a 
parcel  of  young  fellows  about  him,  whom  he  is  hatch- 
ing into  lawyers.  That  was  always  his  way.  Ah! 
well,  he  and  I  were  young,  once.  Is  he  as  gray  as  I 
am  ?" 


"He  has  plenty  of  white  hair  on  his  head;  but  we 
never  think  of  him  as  an  old  man,"  said  Tom.  "  He 
can  work  us  all  tired,  and  he  is  full  of  fun  over  our 


I98  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

work  and  has  plenty  of  good  stories  with  which  he 
illustrates  his  teaching  of  the  law." 

"Yes!  that's  Channing.  He  always  had  a  story 
for  everything. 

"Mary,"  he  called,  "come  here  and  let  me  intro- 
duce you  to  one  of  Channing's  boys."  And  thus, 
without  ceremony,  was  Tom  Whitlock  brought  face 
to  face  with  this  mysterious  Mary  Lowther. 

She  came  smiling  into  the  room,  amused  at  her 
father's  abrupt  summons,  her  face  slightly  flushed, 
and  Tom  Whitlock  was  more  than  ever  at  a  loss  to 
account  for  Dinsmore's  reticence. 

He  laughed  as  Mary  shook  hands  cordially  with 
him,  and  she  answered  him  with  a  merry  laugh. 
They  were  friends  before  they  had  spoken. 

"  Mary,  take  Mr.  Whitlock  into  the  parlor  and 
play  him  some  music.  I  want  to  talk  to  Mr.  Dins- 
more  about  the  enlargement  of  the  church  building. 
You  young  folks  won't  be  interested  in  that." 

"I  won't  let  you  say  that,  Father,  I  am  as  much 
interested  in  it  and  expect  to  work  for  it,  in  my 
way,  as  hard  as  you  do  in  your  way,"  retorted 
Mary. 

"  I  know  that,  my  lassie "  answered  the  Judge. 
"We  know  that;  and  as  soon  as  we  know  what  we 
want  to  do  and  what  it  will  cost  and  how  the  money 
is  to  be  raised,  we  will  call  you  into  our  counsels, 
and  you  will  do  good  service ;  but  Mr.  Whitlock  won't 
care  to  join  in  our  council  of  war,  and  now  we  are 
going  to  discuss  only  the  general  plan  which  will  not 
specially  interest  you,  and  so  the  Court  decides  that 
you  shall  play,  and  we  will  plan  out  work." 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  199 

And  so,  without  further  parley,  the  company  was 
divided,  Whitlock  and  Mary  in  the  parlor,  Dinsmore 
and  the  Judge  in  the  study;  which  arrangement 
suited  Whitlock  admirably. 

The  Judge  figured  and  planned  and  sketched  and 
made  estimates  for  the  extension  of  the  church  at 
the  rear  end;  calculated  the  number  of  pews,  the 
rental,  what  they  could  raise  by  subscription,  and 
what  they  could  borrow. 

Since  Dinsmore  had  come  to  the  parish  the  de- 
mand for  pews  had  increased,  so  that  now  they  had 
a  list  of  twenty  names  ready  to  take  pews  and  not  an 
unrented  pew  in  the  church. 

Through  their  discussion  ran  the  strains  of  one 
and  another  song  that  Mary  played  or  sang. 

Then  the  music  ceased  and  the  murmur  of  the 
voices  in  the  other  room,  with  here  and  there  a  word 
or  two  in  a  louder  tone,  would  catch  Dinsmore's  ear 
and  distract  him  from  the  matter  in  hand  so  that  he 
answered  one  or  two  of  the  Judge's  questions  so 
much  at  random,  that  the  old  gentleman  took  him  up 
with  "What?  What?  What's  that  you  say,  Mr. 
Dinsmore?"  and  he  was  more  at  a  loss  from  the  fact 
that  he  did  not  know  exactly  what  he  had  said ?  "I 
guess  you  were  going  over  those  figures  in  your  mind 
and  did  not  catch  my  remark,"  and  the  Judge 
reiterated  it  so  plainly  that  Dinsmore  was  able  to 
make  intelligent  reply. 

Whitlock  was  getting  along  famously  with  Mary, 
and  their  frequent  choruses  of  laughter  were  quite 
as  disconcerting  to  Dinsmore  as  the  fragments  of 
their  talk  that  floated  through  the  door. 


200  A    HILLSIDE   PARISH. 

When  the  Judge  had  settled  to  his  satisfaction  the 
general  plan  for  the  enlargement  of  the  church  build- 
ing and  completed  his  list  of  possible  subscribers,  he 
proposed  an  adjournment  to  the  parlor  for  a  song 
from  Mary. 

"We  always  wind  up  the  evening,  before  I  settle 
down  to  my  night  work,  with  a  Scotch  song,"  he 
added,  as  they  passed  into  the  parlor. 

"  Come,  Mary,"  he  broke  in  on  the  tcte-d-tcte  chat, 
"Give  us  '  Within  a  Mile  of  Edinboro  Town,'  "  and 
added,  turning  to  Whitlock,  "  my  lassie  has  a  right 
to  sing  the  Scotch  songs,  for  her  mother  was  a  Mc- 
Kenzie  from  Inverness." 

"  She  certainly  maintains  her  birthright  to  sing 
them, "said  Whitlock  when  the  song  was  ended;  and 
the  Judge  concluded,  on  the  spot,  that  Whitlock  was 
a  sensible  young  fellow,  and  with  a  hearty  hand- 
shake bade  him  make  himself  at  home  with  them 
during  his  stay  in  Clintonville.  "  Drop  in  to  supper 
with  us  when  you  feel  like  it." 

"  Then  you  will  take  me  out  to-morrow  and  intro- 
duce me  to  Farmer  Brown,  Miss  Mary,"  said  Whit- 
lock, as  they  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"That's  a  good  move,"  said  the  Judge.  "Brown 
has  a  fine  farm  with  some  good  covers,  and,  if  you 
have  his  good-will,  you  can  hunt  anywhere  you 
please  about  Pleasant  Pond." 

Whitlock  had  certainly  done  famously  on  so  short 
an  acquaintance,  securing  Mary  as  a  guide  to  his 
hunting  ground,  and  the  freedom  of  the  house  from 
the  Judge. 

Dinsmore  felt  as  though  he  were  somehow  left  on 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  201 

one  side,  like  a  foot-traveller  stepping  aside  to  let  a 
merry  party  drive  by. 

As  they  walked  back  to  the  Inn  Whitlock  was  full 
of  enthusiasm  on  the  subject  of  Mary  Lowther. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  old  fellow,  you  have  let  a  jewel 
slip  through  your  fingers,  while  you  were  conning  the 
sliddery  graces  of  Madame  the  forlorn  and  forsaken." 

"  You  are  off  on  that  tack  again,  Tom.  How 
often  must  I  tell  you  that  there  is  no  other  bond, 
present  or  prospective,  between  me  and  Mrs.  Keene, 
than  the  pity  which  I  feel,  for  a  woman  in  her  posi- 
tion and  the  help  and  counsel  that  I  can  give  her 
about  her  boy." 

"Yes  I  know;  and  how  often  must  I  warn  you 
that  pity  is  akin  to  love,  and  that  your  fatherly  in- 
terest in  that  handsome  boy  may  ripen  into  assuming 
the  position  permanently." 

Dinsmore  laughed,  "Have  it  your  own  way." 

"  It  is  not  my  way  at  all.  But  no  matter  what 
becomes  of  the  'willing  widder, '  you  have  shown 
amazing  obtusity,  not  to  know  that  girl  better.  She's 
a  mighty  sweet  girl,  sensible,  cultivated,  no  non- 
sense about  her,  and  as  jolly  as  she  is  pretty.  Harry 
your  cloth  must  have  dulled  your  taste  in  women. 
You  have  chosen  dross  and  let  the  gold  slip  through 
your  fingers." 

"Go  on;  don't  mind  me,"  said  Dinsmore. 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  propose  to  do.  You  give 
me  a  free  run.  I  propose  to  take  it.  To-morrow 
Miss  Lowther  drives  me  over  to  Farmer  Brown's  and 
gives  me  her  blessing  on  my  sport.  One  day  shall  in- 
tervene and,  day  after  to-morrow,   I  will  take  the 


202  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Judge  at  his  word  and  go  there  to  supper.  And  after 
that  the  Gods  shall  guide  me.  But  my  next  vacation 
will  be  spent  in  this  region;  and  opportunity  will  not 
be  lost  on  me.     What  are  the  Judge's  means?" 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that "  said  Dinsmore.  "  He 
subscribes  liberally  to  all  charitable  enterprises,  but 
whether  from  his  salary  as  a  Judge  or  from  an  inde- 
pendent income,  I  don't  know." 

"  That's  a  good  sign  "  said  Whitlock.  "  But  after 
all  a  girl  like  that  is  a  fortune  to  a  man,  if  she  brings 
not  one  cent  of  dowry.  The  Judge  is  awfully  fond 
of  her;  would  not  be  able  to  live  without  her;  would 
accept  any  man  as  son-in-law  that  pleases  his  'las- 
sie;' would  take  him  in  and  give  him  a  chance  at 
law  practice.  There's  a  future  for  a  rising  young 
lawyer.  Harry  you  may  count  on  us  as  your  par- 
ishioners and  staunch  supporters.  How  immensely 
superior  such  a  girl  is  to  a  city-bred,  fashionable  girl 
to  whom  life  is  no  more  than  a  show,  more  or  less 
hollow.  There's  something  so  genuine  about  such  a 
girl,  fresh  air,  nature,  reality,  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
You  feel  it  in  every  word  and  look,  though  you  can't 
define  it  and  say  just  where  it  lies." 

"You  have  certainly  made  rapid  strides  in  discov- 
ery on  a  short  acquaintance,  Tom,"  answered  Dins- 
more.  "  And  you  lay  out  a  programme  for  Miss 
Lowther's  future  as  if  she  had  commissioned  you  to  do 
it,  merely  requiring  of  you  that  you  please  yourself." 

"All  right,  old  fellow.  You  have  been  more  than 
obtuse,  absorbed  no  doubt  in  pastoral  cares,  not  to 
see  what  a  jewel  that  girl  is.  I  have  made  a  good 
start  with  the  Judge;  and  I'm  going  to  have  a  good 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  203 

time  with  the  'lassie' — and  I  will  not  worry  my- 
self as  to  the  outcome  of  it.  Wish  me  joy  and 
success." 

"  That  seems  hardly  necessary  "  answered  Dins- 
more.  "You  seem  to  enjoy  it  and  feel  sure  of  your 
success." 

"  Then  all  I  will  ask  of  you  is  not  to  meddle," 
said  Whitlock,  with  a  laugh,  as  they  bid  one  another 
good-night. 

Dinsmore  went  to  his  room  with  a  sense  of  discom- 
fort, as  though  something  had  gone  wrong,  and  yet 
he  could  not  fix  upon  anything  that  should  be  a  dis- 
turbing element  in  his  thoughts. 

Whitlock  was  too  outspoken  and  reckless  in  his 
talk;  but  that  did  not  compromise  him;  he  was  not 
responsible  for  what  he  said  or  did. 

The  plans  which  Judge  Lowther  proposed  were 
reasonable  and  likely  to  succeed.  It  was  surely  an 
omen  of  success  that,  after  six  months  work,  the 
church  needed  to  be  enlarged,  and  that  so  prominent 
a  man  as  the  Judge  took  so  lively  an  interest  in  the 
work. 

But  it  would  have  added  to  the  interest  with  which 
they  worked  out  the  plans  if  Mary  had  been  in  at  the 
conference.  She  was  ready  with  practical  sugges- 
tions, always;  and  Dinsmore  felt  as  if  he  must  talk 
it  over  with  her  before  they  concluded  on  what  was 
to  be  done  and  how  they  should  do  it. 

It  seemed,  too,  as  if  she  would,  in  some  way,  injure 
her  influence  as  his  helper  in  Sunday  School  work  at 
Scooper's  Hollow  if  she  took  Whitlock  out  to  Farmer 
Brown's  on  a  shooting  excursion.     There  was  some- 


204  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

thing  unsuitable  in  it,  just  what  he  could  not  say; 
but  the  two  missions  seemed  incongruous. 

What  an  odd  stick  Tom  was.  How  he  blundered 
along  in  life;  and  yet  he  seemed  to  make  his  way, 
and  people  took  him  for  what  he  was,  a  real  good- 
hearted,  clever  fellow. 

Dinsmore  liked  him  well,  but  did  not  see  why  other 
people  liked  him  so  well. 

He  was  altogether  in  a  contrary  frame  of  mind, 
liking  and  disapproving,  satisfied  and  unsatisfied, 
feeling  as  if  something  had  thoroughly  unsettled  him. 

And  what  was  it  that  unsettled  him  ?  The  affairs 
of  his  Hillside  Parish  were  in  a  prosperous  state. 
His  ministry  was  acceptable;  the  church  was  to  be 
enlarged;  his  ambition  to  awaken  these  people  was 
already  being  realized. 

He  told  himself  this  comforting  story;  and  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  true,  but  it  did  not  assure  him 
that  all  was  well. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  next  morning,  right  after  breakfast,  Mary 
Lowther  drove  up  to  the  hotel  in  her  basket 
phaeton  with  the  pair  of  Morgan  horses.  How  well 
she  handled  the  reins,  how  fresh  and  rosy  the  frosty 
air  made  her  cheeks,  and  how  bright  the  morning 
light  shone  in  her  eyes. 

Whitlock  was  ready  with  gun  and  game-bag, 
"Brown  Bess, "  his  cocker  spaniel  jumped  into  the 
wagon  and  curled  herself  up  at  Mary's  feet  and 
seemed  to  smile  at  Mary,  as  she  leaned  over  and 
stroked  the  silky  head. 

Mrs.  Keene  and  Dinsmore  stood  on  the  balcony, 
and  wished  them  good  luck,  to  which  Tom  roared 
his  thanks. 

"  They  make  a  very  pretty  pair,"  she  said  turning 
to  Dinsmore  as  they  drove  away.  "  Quien  Sabe?  It 
may  be  that  your  friend  will  bring  down  some  unex- 
pected game.  It  is  all  in  the  professional  line,  and 
the  Judge  would  no  doubt  approve  of  a  match  which 
brought  both  him  and  Mary  a  partner;"  she  watched 
Dinsmore  as  she  waited  for  his  reply. 

"Yes"  he  said  absently,  and  with  a  slight  rising 
inflection,  that  left  one  in  doubt  whether  he  intended 
to  assent  to,  or  question  her  statement. 

"Your  friends  impetuous,  headlong  ways  would 
205 


206  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

suit  an  unconventional  girl  like  Mary  very  well. 
She  has  good  sense  enough  to  curb  his  excess  of 
animal  spirits,  and  yet  has  not  been  reared  in  sur- 
roundings that  would  make  her  take  offence  at  his 
boisterous  ways.  He  seems  to  be  a  well-meaning 
young  fellow,"  she  added,  after  a  moments  pause, 
which  had  not  elicited  any  reply  from  Dinsmore. 

"  He  is  a  noble,  true-hearted,  manly  fellow.  I 
wish  there  were  more  like  him,"  said  Dinsmore,  de- 
cidedly. 

"  Then  he  would  be  a  valuable  addition  to  your 
parish,"  replied  Mrs.  Keene,  in  an  almost  derisive 
tone.  "We  will  do  our  utmost  to  further  this  little 
romance." 

Dinsmore  made  no  answer,  but  stood  absently 
looking  at  the  line  of  distant  hills  radiant  with  autumn 
glory. 

"  How  the  leaves  flutter  down,  with  every  breeze  " 
said  Mrs.  Keene,  as  if  in  a  reverie.  "And  every 
falling  leaf  reminds  me  that  the  time  is  drawing  near 
when  I  must  go  back  into  the  world.  Go  back  alone 
with  my  boy,  to  face  I  know  not  what ;  to  face  it 
alone;  to  battle  against  prejudice  and  suspicion  and 
evil  tongues  that  will  misrepresent  everything  I  do 
or  say.  When  I  am  gone  may  I  write  to  you  for 
counsel,  Mr.  Dinsmore;  or  will  the  affairs  of  your 
'Hill-Side  Parish'  so  fill  your  mind  that  there  will 
be  no  place  left  for  anyone  outside  the  bounds  of  it. 
You  are  a  man,  strong,  self-reliant,  sure  of  your 
place  and  power  in  the  world,  and  I  suppose  cannot 
know  how  a  woman  would  dread  what  I  shall  have 
to  face. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  207 

"  You  have  my  hearty  sympathy,  Mrs.  Keene;  and 
if  I  can  aid  you  in  any  way  I  want  you  to  feel  always 
that  you  can  call  upon  me,  and  I  shall  be  only  too 
glad  to  do  what  I  can,"  answered  Dinsmore. 

He  turned  to  go  to  his  study,  Mrs.  Keene  walked 
to  the  far  end  of  the  balcony  and  stood  there  tapping 
her  foot  impatiently.  The  young  minister  did  not 
seem  to  be  in  a  responsive  mood;  his  answer  was  cold 
and  formal,  lacking  spontaneity,  deliberate  as  though 
it  were  forced  from  him. 

This  boisterous  young  law-student  was  held  re- 
sponsible by  her  for  Dinsmore's  lack  of  heartiness. 
He  was  an  upsetting  element  in  the  quiet  life  of  their 
little  circle;  he  had  a  tongue  that  could  not  be 
trusted,  and  his  laugh  was  positively  offensive.  She 
doubted  her  ability  to  set  him  down;  for  what  an- 
swer could  one  make  to  an  inane  and  boisterous  laugh. 

In  the  evening  Tom  came  home  from  his  hunting, 
in  fine  spirits,  and  with  his  face  all  aglow  from  his 
walk  through  the  evening  air  from  Pleasant  Pond. 

He  had  had  a  fine  day's  sport  and  was  in  the  best 
of  spirits.  He  had  killed  five  plump  partridges,  had 
not  missed  a  single  shot,  and  "  Brown  Bess  "  had  be- 
haved as  only  a  well-bred  dog  knows  how  to  do  and 
delight  his  master's  heart. 

The  ride  out  there — well  nothing  need  be  said  on 
that  subject,  for  Dinsmore  knew  what  his  opinion  of 
Mary  Lowther  was,  and  nothing  occurred  to  make 
him  change  it  one  whit. 

"  But,  Harry,  my  boy,  you  have  a  fine  parish. 
My  gracious!  I  don't  believe  many  parsons  have 
such  hunting  and  fishing.     You're  in  luck." 


208  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light  before  Tom, 
as  one  of  my  ministerial  privileges;  thank  you  for  a 
new  point  of  view." 

"Then  you  have  a  lot  of  nice  people  about  you. 
That  Farmer  Brown  is  a  fine  old  fellow.  He  asked 
me  to  dinner  and  I  tell  you  it  was  a  royal  good  din- 
ner. Such  a  turkey  and  such  bread  and  butter  a 
man  don't  get  except  on  the  soil  where  they  were 
raised ;  and  after  dinner  we  had  a  good  smoke,  while 
the  Farmer  showed  me  his  cattle.  And  that  girl  of 
his  is  a  dandy.  She  put  on  a  jockey  cap  and  started 
over  the  field  to  show  me  a  cover  where  there  was  a 
covey  of  quail,  and  the  way  she  went  over  that  rough 
ground  pretty  near  winded  me.  She's  a  nice  girl, 
with  lots  of  good  sense  and  full  of  fun.  I  laughed 
once  at  one  of  her  stories  until  I  fell  off  the  fence. 
She  took  me  over  in  the  afternoon  to  see  that  pictu- 
resque old  witch  Barbara.  Upon  my  word  you're  in 
luck  with  a  mighty  interesting  parish.  I  thought 
you  were  buried  in  a  hole,  but  there  are  people  here; 
no  doubt  about  it." 

"  You  have  made  a  general  exploration  and  have 
all  the  delight  of  one  who  is  on  a  voyage  of  discov- 
ery, Tom;  but  it  is  not  altogether  news  to  me," 
answered  Dinsmore,  smiling  at  his  friend's  enthu- 
siasm. 

"No!  I  suppose  not,  but  it  was  new  to  me. 
They're  quite  stuck  on  you,  Harry.  Mrs.  Brown 
regards  you  as  a  thorough  gentleman,  and  Miss  Fanny 
is  one  of  your  devoted  followers.  Mrs.  Brown  said 
that  to  see  you  come  forward  as  you  did  at  her  'So- 
ciable '  made  her  feel  like  a  mother  to  you." 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  209 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  this  undeserved  praise 
of  your  humble  servant  ?"  asked  Dinsmore. 

"  Well  to  tell  you  the  truth  Harry,  I  burst  out 
laughing  and  looked  at  Miss  Fanny.  She  blushed, 
and  I  laughed  louder;  then  Farmer  Brown  chimed  in 
with  a  hearty  laugh,  and  then  we  all  laughed  to- 
gether." 

"  The  usual  conclusion  that  you  reach,  one  way  or 
another,"  answered  Dinsmore. 

"Take  me  down  to  Mrs.  Livingston's  to-night; 
will  you  ?"  asked  Whitlock. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  will  or  not,"  answered 
Dinsmore.  "  You're  an  uncertain  quantity,  Tom. 
But  I  suppose  if  I  don't  take  you,  that  you  will  go 
there  yourself ;  and  perhaps  I  had  better  go  and  keep 
you  in  hand." 

"You  had  better  go,  Harry;  or  I  will  ask  Miss 
Lowther  to  take  me  there,  and  we  might  make  mis- 
chief for  you.  I  feel  safe  under  your  wing.  I  tell 
you  what,  I  think  it's  awfully  jolly,  this  role  of  the 
pastor's  friend;  it  lets  me  in  for  lots  of  sport  on  the 
very  best  footing,  both  with  the  men  and  the  maidens. " 

Dinsmore  laughed.  Tom's  views  of  the  perqui- 
sites of  a  pastor's  life  were  certainly  original. 

At  supper  three  of  the  partridges  were  served,  a 
brace  of  them  had  been  despatched  to  Judge  Low- 
ther, with  Tom's  compliments. 

"Your  escort  was  a  mascot  Mr.  Whitlock,"  said 
Mrs.  Keene,  when  she  saw  the  fruit  of  Tom's  day  of 
sport. 

"  Or    the   good    luck   that   you   wished   me,    Mrs. 
Keene,"  replied  Tom. 
14 


210  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  Oh,  no  Mr.  Whitlock,  spells  and  charms  of  every 
kind  are  in  the  hands  of  the  unwed  maidens.  They 
are  always  called  on  to  christen  ships  and  bring  good 
luck  of  every  kind.  In  the  eyes  of  men  we  women 
lose  all  the  power  to  charm  when  we  have  once  been 
under  the  ban  of  matrimony." 

"  That  is  not  because  you  have  lost  the  power,  but 
because  you  have  devoted  it  to  one  interest;  so  that 
your  spells  are  all  reserved  for  advancing  his  pros- 
perity. It  is  a  kind  of  close  partnership  that  excludes 
every  one  else." 

"  Is  it  so  with  men,  or  is  this  theory  of  absorption 
only  applicable  to  women  ?"  said  Mrs.  Keene. 

"  I  am  in  no  position  to  answer,  Mrs.  Keene;  as  I 
am  not  of  the  guild,"  answered  Tom. 

"  A  candidate  for  orders,  a  neophyte,  perhaps. 
Are  you  ready  for  the  vigils  prescribed  for  knight- 
hood ?" 

"  That  depends  on  who  is  to  bestow  the  accolade  ?" 
answered  Whitlock. 

"We  have  already  settled  that, "  answered  Mrs. 
Keene,  turning  to  Dinsmore. 

Dinsmore's  reply  was  a  laugh,  not  merry,  almost 
constrained. 

After  supper  Whitlock  and  Dinsmore  strolled  down 
to  Mrs.  Livingston's.  The  old  dame  met  them 
cordially  and  Tom  made  himself  thoroughly  at 
home. 

"  Are  you  come  to  make  quite  a  stay  with  us,  Mr. 
Whitlock,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  as  she  brought  in 
a  pitcher  of  cider  and  set  it  down  beside  a  plate  of 
Belle  Flower  apples,  and  a  dish  of  roast  chestnuts; 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  21 1 

"  if  so  we  want  you  to  be  sociable  and  come  to  sup- 
per when  you  can." 

"I  haven't  a  long  vacation,  Mrs.  Livingston;  not 
more  than  ten  days  or  two  weeks;  but  I  am  coming 
here  again  for  my  Spring  vacation.  I  think  my 
friend  Harry  has  a  fine  parish,  lots  of  good  hunting, 
good  fishing,  and  kind  people.  I  don't  see  what  a 
man  could  ask  more." 

The  old  dame  laughed.  "That  wa'nt  included  in 
the  call,  I  guess.  We  calculate  to  give  our  pastor  a 
donation  party  and  make  him  and  his  friends  feel  at 
home  among  us;  but  we  never  did  include  the  huntin' 
and  fishin'  as  part  of  the  salary  of  this  church." 

"  I  suppose  not,  Mrs.  Livingston ;  but  Deacon  Hil- 
ton has  a  trout-pond  where  his  father  used  to  fish 
until  he  was  paralyzed;  and  now  no  one  casts  a  line 
over  it  but  the  parson.  Now  that  shows  a  true  re- 
gard for  the  pastor's  good." 

"Well  fishin'  seems  more  scriptural  for  a  minister 
than  shootin*  does.  The  Apostles  were  fishermen; 
and  I  never  mind  seein'  a  minister  at  it,  now.  But 
a  gun  was  always  a  fearful  thing  tome;  and  it  don't 
seem  the  sort  o'  thing  for  a  minister  to  be  handlin'." 

"I  don't  object  to  your  views,  Mrs.  Livingston, 
for  that  leaves  the  whole  field  to  me.  I  hope  you 
won't  read  me  out  of  your  books  because  I  persist  in 
my  gunning." 

"  Oh !  no,  I've  nothing  to  say  against  your  gunnin' 
all  you  want;  but  I'd  hate  to  see  it  in  the  papers  that 
the  pastor  o'  Clintonville  church  was  brought  home 
dead,  havin'  shot  himself  while  out  gunnin'  for 
birds." 


212  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Tom  laughed  "  The  item  would  not  seem  so  bad 
if  my  name  was  in  it,"  he  said. 

"  Not  ne'er  so  bad,  except  to  your  mother.  If 
you'd  a  been  my  boy,  I  would  ha'  kept  a  gun  out  o' 
your  hands  altogether." 

"Well  I'll  promise  not  to  take  your  pastor  out  gun- 
ning or  lead  him  into  any  mischief,  while  I  am  here. 
I  had  very  good  guides  to  the  field.  Miss  Lowther 
drove  me  out  to  Farmer  Brown's,  and  Miss  Fannie 
Brown  took  me  over  the  fields  of  her  father's  farm." 

"  I  hope  you'll  be  careful  handlin*  your  gun  and 
not  shoot  either  of  those  girls  "  said  the  old  dame, 
earnestly;  "  for  there  aren't  two  nicer  girls  in  the 
country." 

"  You  may  rest  easy  on  that  score  Mrs.  Livingston ; 
for  my  gun  is  never  loaded  going  to  or  from  the  field. 
There  is  only  one  thing  needed  to  make  this  an  ideal 
place  for  a  fortnight's  sport,  and  that  is  for  my  friend 
Mr.  Dinsmore  to  have  a  snug  fireside  of  his  own 
where  he  can  welcome  his  friends  "  and  Tom  laughed, 
as  he  saw  the  twinkle  in  the  old  lady's  eye. 

"I've  told  him  as  much  myself,"  she  said,  "but 
that's  one  of  those  things  in  which  advice  is  thrown 
away,  until  there's  no  need  of  advice.  It  would  add 
to  his  usefulness." 

"  He  would  be  much  more  useful  to  me  "  said  Tom. 
"What  do  you  sayto  it,  Harry",  he  added,  turning 
to  Dinsmore. 

"What  I  may  have  to  say  is  but  half  the  question. 
The  answer  that  I  am  to  get,  the  person  that  is  to 
give  the  answer;  these  are  the  important  points", 
answered  Dinsmore. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARI  SIT.  213 

"He  will  come  to  his  senses,  Mrs.  Livingston" 
said  Tom.  "  I  have  known  him  long  enough  to  be 
sure  that  he  was  not  cut  out  for  the  life  of  a  hermit. 
He  is  sound  on  the  doctrine  that  it  is  not  good  for 
man  to  be  alone." 

"  I'm  sure  the  day  for  hermits  is  past  "  said  Mrs. 
Livingston.  "  If  there  ever  was  any  use  in  them, 
they're  not  fit  for  these  times.  I  hope  the  Lord  will 
guide  Mr.  Dinsmore  for  his  own  good  and  the  good 
of  the  parish.  Have  you  met  Mrs.  Keeneatthe  Inn. 
I  suppose  you  and  she,  bein'  both  from  the  city,  would 
have  a  good  deal  to  say  to  one  another." 

"Yes,  I  have  met  her,  Mrs.  Livingston,  but  she 
is  from  another  part  of  the  city  than  I.  She  knows 
more  about  society,  and  I  more  about  a  law  student's 
life  in  the  city,"  answered  Tom. 

"  She's  different  from  our  folks,"  said  the  old  dame. 
"  It's  rather  hard  to  say  exactly  how;  but  she  is  dif- 
ferent." 

"  Yes  "  said  Tom  "  she  is  very  different.  She  hardly 
seems  to  belong  to  the  same  race  as  Miss  Lowther. " 

"  Mary's  a  fine  girl  "  said  the  old  lady  warmly.  "  I 
love  her  as  well  as  if  she  was  my  own  child.  I  don't 
believe  anybody  that  knows  Mary  can  help  from  lovin' 
her.  But  Mrs.  Keene  has  a  mighty  takin'  way  with 
her.  There's  old  Mrs.  Hollis  thinks  the  world  of 
her,  and  Judge  Lowther  is  almost  makin'  a  fool  of 
himself,  for  sech  an  old  man.  And  Mary  thinks 
more  of  her  than  she  deserves.  She  can  make  a'most 
any  one  she  chooses  fond  of  her.  I  suppose  you 
and  she  are  quite  friends?" 

"Well,    not  exactly,   Mrs.  Livingston.      Somehow 


214  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

we  don't  get  along  as  well  as  we  ought  to.  I  am 
afraid  my  rough  ways  do  not  suit  her,"  answered 
Tom. 

"  I  thought,  from  all  I  had  heard,  that  she  was 
rather  used  to  rough  ways  in  men.  But  perhaps 
she's  had  enough  of  it  and  would  prefer  something 
more  easy  like,  now.  You  can't  believe  all  you  hear, 
nor  more'n  half  o'  what  you  see,  or  think  you  see. 
Do  you  know  how  much  longer  Mrs.  Keene  expects 
to  stay  here." 

"  She  told  me  yesterday  "  said  Dinsmore,  "  that 
the  falling  leaves  reminded  her  of  how  soon  she 
would  have  to  go  back  to  face  the  world  alone." 

"  That  sounds  like  her  "  said  Mrs.  Livingston ;  and 
Tom  laughed  aloud;  "for  she  told  me,  last  week, 
when  she  took  supper  with  me,  that  she  had  a  mind 
never  to  go  back  to  the  city,  but  always  to  live  here, 
and  try  to  become  interested  in  charity  work ;  and 
she  wanted  me  to  teach  her  to  make  broth  and  jelly 
for  sick  folks.  I  told  her  I'd  teach  her;  but  she  did 
not  appoint  any  time  for  the  first  lesson.  I  guess  it's 
hard  for  her  to  make  up  her  mind  what  she  does 
want;  or  perhaps  it's  too  easy,  and  she  makes  it  up 
different,  once  a  week." 

"  She  has  a  hard  problem  before  her,  Mrs.  Living- 
ston," said  Dinsmore;  "and  I  think  she  deserves 
pity  and  counsel  and  help  from  every  one  who  can 
give  it  to  her." 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  about  problems,  Mr.  Dins- 
more. She's  got  a  plain  duty  before  her,  to  think 
nothin'  about  gettin'  married,  and  give  herself  to  the 
bringin'   up  o'   that  fine  boy  o'   hers.      She's  tried 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  215 

bein'  a  wife  and  wasn't  a  success  at  it.  Now  Jet  her 
try  to  be  a  good  mother,  and  she'll  find  that  that's 
no  problem;  but  a  plain  duty  that  Providence  has 
laid  out  for  her." 

"I  think  she  feels  that,  Mrs.  Livingston;  and  it  is 
on  this  very  point  that  she  seeks  counsel  and  help," 
said  Dinsmore. 

"She  didn't  ask  any  counsel  from  me  on  that 
point"  said  the  old  Dame,  "she wanted  to  know  how 
she  could  work  among  the  people  here  and  make 
herself  a  useful  woman  in  the  community,  and  feel 
that  her  influence  was  something,  and  she  would  be 
missed  when  she  left  us,  and  would  feel  that  she  was 
not  livin'  a  narrow,  self-centred  life,  and  a  good  bit 
more  that  I  didn't  understand  very  well.  I  must 
own,  she  talked  well,  and  at  the  time,  I  thought  she 
felt  what  she  said." 

"  I  am  sure  she  does  feel  her  responsibility  and  her 
lonely  position,  very  keenly  ",  answered  Dinsmore. 

"Well  it's  not  so  much  the  feelin'  as  the  stickin' 
to  it  that  makes  a  woman  useful  and  good  for  some- 
thin'  in  this  world.  Our  feelin's  is  apt  to  run  away 
with  us;  but  stickin'  to  it  gives  you  no  chance  to 
run  away." 

Tom's  only  part  in  this  conversation  was  to  ap- 
plaud Mrs.  Livingston  with  laughter,  which  Dins- 
more feared  was  boisterous  enough  to  offend  the  old 
lady;  but  her  hearty  invitation  to  Tom  to  take  sup- 
per with  her  showed  that  no  offence  was  given. 

"The  old  lady  sees  through  Mrs.  Keene's  thin  dis- 
guises ",  said  Tom,  on  the  way  home. 

"I  think  she  sees  more  than  there  is",  answered 


216  A    HILLSIDE  PAKISH. 

Dinsmore.  "What  object  would  Mrs.  Keene  have 
in  laying  herself  out  to  beguile  a  simple-hearted  old 
country  woman  whom  she  may  never  in  her  life  see 
again  ?" 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  the  instinct  that  she  has  for 
bagging  all  game  small  and  big.  In  the  second 
place  she  has  not  wholly  made  up  her  mind  to  shake 
off  the  rural  dust  from  her  dainty  shoes.  It  was  sig- 
nificant, her  desire  to  be  an  influence  in  this  commu- 
nity ",  said  Tom,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  know  she  feels  that  her  life,  thus  far,  is  wasted; 
that  she  must  get  out  of  herself  or  she  will  grow 
morbid  or  go  mad,"  said  Dinsmore. 

"  And  getting  out  of  herself  implies  getting  into 
somebody  else.  Confound  her  sentimental  rot,  she 
is  no  more  morbid  than  I  am.  She's  on  the  market 
for  a  husband,  if  she  can  get  one;  and  if  she  can't, 
then  to  make  love  to  every  man  she  meets,  just  for 
the  fun  of  it." 

"What  do  you  make  out  of  her  evident  desire  to 
make  friends  with  women  just  as  much,  or  more,  than 
she  does  with  men,"  asked  Dinsmore  in  a  decided 
tone,  as  though  settling  the  controversy. 

"Why  it's  as  plain  as  the  nib  of  your  Reverence. 
She  either  gains  a  direct  lead  to  a  flirtation,  as  in  the 
case  of  Miss  Lowther  and  Mrs.  Hollis,  or  it  serves 
as  a  general  cover  to  her,  as  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston. There  is  nothing  more  important  to  a 
woman  who  is  shady  in  repute,  or  who  is  in  for  gen- 
eral flirtation,  than  the  friendship  of  reputable 
women.  It  is  like  charity,  it  covers  a  multitude  of 
sins." 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  217 

"  How  preposterous,  Tom.  To  what  flirtation  does 
Mrs.  Hollis'  friendship  lead  the  way,"  asked  Dins- 
more. 

"  With  Miss  Amelie  " ;  and  Whitlock  roared  with 
laughter;  Dinsmore  could  not  help  laughing  too. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Tom,"  he  said. 

"  All  right  "  said  Tom;  "  I  won't.    But  don't  you." 

"  I'll  try  not  "  said  Dinsmore. 

"That's  right"  said  Tom.  "Be  humble;  I  al- 
ways have  more  hope  of  a  fellow  when  he  is  not  stuck 
on  himself." 

"  You  must  despair  of  yourself,  sometimes,  I  should 
think,"  said  Dinsmore. 

"  No,  Harry,  my  pride  is  on  the  surface.  In  the 
depths  of  my  heart,  I  am  a  very  humble  fellow,  es- 
pecially with  women,"  said  Tom. 

"Save  the  mark!  then  I  don't  even  know  humility 
when  I  see  it,"  retorted  Dinsmore. 

"  You  are  in  the  way  of  getting  a  lesson  in  it  that 
will  last  you  a  life-time,  if  you  don't  look  out;"  and, 
with  this  parting  shot,  Tom  went  to  his  room. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

"MAS  your  friend  Mr.  Whitlock  already  found  us 

1  1  too  dull,  and  gone  back  to  his  law-books?" 
was  Mrs.  Keene's  greeting,  as  Dinsmore  came  to  the 
table  alone. 

"No,"  answered  Dinsmore,  "he  has  gone  to  Judge 
Lowther's  to  supper." 

"  In  furtherance  of  his  pastime,  the  pursuit  of 
game?"  she  replied.  "He  is  an  ardent  hunter  by 
day  and  night.  He  is  quite  thoroughly  impressed 
with  Miss  Lowther's  charms." 

"Yes?"  was  Dinsmore's  laconic  reply. 

"Oh!  yes,  indeed.  There  is  no  subject,  not  even 
quail  or  partridge  or  his  paragon  'Brown  Bess'  that 
elicits  such  a  flow  of  enthusiastic  talk  as  the  mention 
of  Miss  Lowther's  name.      Have  you  not  found  it  so  ?". 

"We  do  not  discuss  Miss  Lowther;  we  talk  more 
of  old  times,"  answered  Dinsmore. 

"  That  is  quite  as  it  should  be.  A  man  whose 
heart  is  becoming  enlisted  in  a  woman  is  shy  of  talk- 
ing to  other  men ;  for  fear,  I  suppose,  that  they  will 
ridicule  him.  He  seeks  his  confidants  among  women, 
sure  that  his  ecstasies  will  pass  current  with  them. 
Is  that  the  true  explanation  of  the  undoubted  fact?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell  you,  Mrs.  Keene.  On 
these  matters  one  ounce  of  experience   is  worth   a 

2lS 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  219 

pound  of  theory;  and  I  have  not  had  one  minim  of 
experience." 

"  Being  in  a  game  of  chess  does  not  always  give 
the  surest  insight.  The  onlooker  has  sometimes  the 
best  chance  to  see  into  both  sides  of  the  game,"  per- 
sisted Mrs.  Keene. 

"  Then  I  must  disclaim  even  that  vantage  point. 
I  did  not  know  that  there  was  any  game  being  played, " 
answered  Dinsmore. 

Miss  Amelia,  an  interested  listener  up  to  this 
point,  now  joined  in  the  conversation. 

"  I  am  sure  no  one  can  blame  Mary  for  having  a 
good  time,  when  she  has  so  few  chances;  and  if  a 
girl  wants  to  make  a  good  match  she  has  certainly 
got  to  look  outside  of  Clintonville. " 

"  I  do  not  blame,  I  commend  her"  said  Mrs.  Keene, 
sweetly.  "  She  is  a  charming  girl,  and  if  she  made 
a  good  match,  as  you  call  it,  Miss  Amelia,  a  few 
months  in  the  city  would  polish  her  manners  and  make 
her  a  most  attractive  young  married  woman,  who 
would  not  want  for  attention  and  admiration  from 
the  best  sort  of  men." 

"  I  wonder  what  Miss  Lowther  would  say  to  the 
attractive  programme  which  you  sketch  out  for  her  " 
said  Dinsmore,  as  he  rose  from  the  table.  As  he 
went  to  his  room  he  wished  that  he  could  see  and 
hear  what  was  going  on  at  Judge  Lowther's. 

And  this  is  what  he  would  have  seen.  As  Whit- 
lock  came  to  the  door  Mary  was  bidding  good-by  to 
Sally  Hill.  As  he  passed  into  the  hall,  he  overheard 
Sally  say,  in  a  whisper  so  loud  that  it  seemed  to  be 
intended  for  him. 


220  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  Mary,  is  that  another  to  be  hung  on  your 
string?" 

Mary's  face  flushed  as  she  tried  to  silence  Sally. 

"  No,  I  won't  keep  still,  unless  you  promise  me  that 
you  will  behave  yourself  with  him.  Promise  me 
that  you  will  reform,  and  to-night  will  be  the  begin- 
ning of  the  reformation,"  and  Sally  looked  roguishly 
toward  Tom,  and  pinched  Mary's  cheek. 

"I  promise,"  said  Mary.  What  else  would  check 
this  wayward  tongue.  Sally  kissed  her  good-by. 
"I  will  call  to-morrow  and  hear  you  confess,"  she 
said,  as  she  ran  down  the  steps. 

Mary  turned  away  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  trusting 
that  Tom  had  heard  nothing. 

"And  so  you  made  the  promise,"  were  Tom's  first 
words  when  they  were  seated  in  the  parlor.  Mary's 
face  had  not  recovered  its  usual  color  and  it  gained 
a  new  accession.  "  Do  you  always  promise  as  easily 
as  that?"  persisted  Tom. 

"Yes!  when  I  am  asked  to  promise  what  I  know 
is  best  for  me,"  replied  Mary,  gaining  courage  as 
she  spoke. 

"Who  tells  you  what  is  best  to  promise?"  retorted 
Tom. 

"My  own  common  sense,"  replied  Mary. 

"  Do  you  allow  that  to  be  prompted  by  the  person 
asking  the  promise,"  queried  Tom,  laughing. 

"Yes!  when  I  think  they  are  competent  to  judge 
of  the  situation  ",  replied  Mary. 

"  Do  you  think  Miss  Sally  Hill  such  a  competent 
person  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Under  the  circumstances,   I  did  not  need  any 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  221 

prompting  from  her.  I  felt  the  propriety  of  her  re- 
quest as  soon  as  she  made  it,"  answered  Mary. 

"  May  I  venture  then  to  ask  what  was  the  nature 
of  her  request.  I  ask  it  not  out  of  idle  curiosity,  but 
for  my  own  guidance,"  said  Tom. 

"  Certainly  you  are  at  liberty  to  ask  what  you 
please,  and  I  am  free  to  answer  as  I  see  good,"  re- 
plied Mary,  laughing. 

"  Do  you  lay  that  down  as  a  general  proposition, 
or  as  applying  only  to  this  particular  case?"  asked 
Tom,  with  a  reckless  sort  of  laugh. 

"  It  is  confined  to  this  particular  case;  and  as  you 
did  not  immediately  embrace  my  offer;  but  asked  a 
question  instead,  you  threw  away  your  chance,  and 
the  offer  is  withdrawn." 

"  I  will  embrace  any  offer  that  you  make  Miss 
Lowther. " 

"  Then  you  must  not  be  so  slow,  another  time. 
That  one  is  withdrawn.  What  sort  of  sport  did  you 
have  to-day." 

"  Not  nearly  so  good  as  when  you  drove  me  out 
to  the  hunt.  Can't  I  engage  your  services  for  to- 
morrow; you  to  have  half  the  result  of  the  day's 
sport." 

"  No  I  can't  go  out  to-morrow.  It  is  prayer-meet- 
ing night,  and  driving  in  the  cold  air  makes  me  too 
sleepy",  answered  Mary. 

"  Now  that  is  what  I  call  a  lame  excuse.  Then 
can  I  take  you  to  prayer  meeting,"  said  Tom. 

"You  would  be  too  sleepy,  after  a  day's  hunt,  and 
might  fall  asleep  and  tumble  off  the  seat  into  the 
aisle  and  disgrace  me,"  said  Mary,  laughing.     "And 


222  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

if  you  did  not,  I  can't  associate  you  and  a  prayer- 
meeting  in  my  mind.  You  don't  seem  to  belong 
there." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  Miss  Lowther,  that  I  have  been 
very  well  brought  up,  little  reason  as  you  may  have 
to  suspect  it.  I  have  been  to  prayer-meetings  very 
often.  I  know  how  to  conduct  myself  with  perfect 
propriety,  to  keep  awake  by  artificial  means,  if  na- 
ture asserts  herself  too  strongly,  and  to  acquit  my- 
self creditably  even  in  singing  the  hymns.  Just  try 
me  once,"  pleaded  Tom,  as  though  a  prayer-meeting 
was  something  from  which  he  could  not  bear  to  be 
excluded. 

Mary  laughed  and  promised  to  let  him  go  to 
prayer-meeting  with  her,  upon  the  pledge  of  most 
exemplary  behavior  on  his  part,  especially  in  the  mat- 
ter of  keeping  awake  and  singing  the  hymns  in  a 
very  discreet  manner. 

"Do  you  sing,  Mr.  Whitlock,"  she  asked,  when 
they  had  retired  to  the  parlor,  after  supper,  leaving 
the  Judge,  in  the  adjoining  room,  with  his  newspaper. 

"Oh!  No"  said  Tom,  "I  only  sing  in  prayer- 
meeting." 

Now  the  fact  was  that  Tom  had  a  first-rate  bari- 
tone voice,  which  he  had  not  cared  to  cultivate  and 
of  which  he  spoke  in  a  disparaging  tone.  But  there 
were  a  few  songs,  that  suited  both  his  voice  and  dis- 
position, which  he  could  deliver  with  a  dash  that 
made  them  very  effective. 

"  Before  I  give  my  consent  to  your  singing  in 
prayer-meeting,  I  must  insist  on  a  rehearsal  ",  said 
Mary. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  223 

"You  have  no  hymn-book  here,"  answered  Tom, 
"  and  if  you  had,  the  surroundings  are  not  solemn 
enough." 

"  Here  is  the  hymn-book  "  said  Mary,  putting  one 
on  the  rack  of  the  piano;  "and  I  will  seat  myself, 
with  folded  hands  and  eyes  cast  up  to  the  ceiling." 
She  seated  herself  accordingly,  and  Tom  sat  down  to 
the  piano,  strummed  a  few  chords,  rustled  the  leaves 
of  the  hymn-book  and  then,  with  a  reckless  kind  of 
accompaniment,  rattled  off,  in  a  rich,  full  baritone 
"The  Midship-mite." 

"Bravo"  cried  the  Judge,  as  he  came  stumbling  in 
from  the  library,  waving  the  newspaper;  "Give  us 
the  'Star  Spangled  Banner.'" 

"  May  I  sing  in  prayer-meeting,  Miss  Lowther?" 
asked  Tom,  as  humbly  as  if  he  were  on  trial  before 
the  music  committee  of  a  church  for  the  position  of 
chorister. 

"  Not  if  you  go  rollicking  through  the  hymns  like 
that  ",  answered  Mary. 

Then  Tom  turned  to  the  piano  and  sang  softly  and 
sweetly,  as  if  he  were  full  of  the  spirit  of  devotion 
"Nearer  my  God  to  Thee;"  for  he  had  musical  in- 
stinct, and  could  give  a  true  rendering  of  hymn  or 
song. 

"  Yes,  you  can  sing  in  prayer-meeting  ",  said  Mary. 

"Thank  you,"  answered  Tom,  sedately,  as  though 
he  had  won  in  a  prize  competition,  and  the  judge  had 
awarded  him  the  honor. 

"He's  a  fine  fellow,  Mary;  a  fine  fellow,  I  say" 
said  the  Judge  as  they  bid  Tom  good-night.  "  I  must 
remember  that  lad.     I  begrudge  Channing  such  a 


224  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

young  fellow  in  his  office.  He's  full  of  life,  he  has 
lots  of  stuff  in  him;  he  can  work;  there's  the  mak- 
ing of  a  man  and  a  lawyer  in  that  young  fellow. 
He's  a  good  shot.  He's  a  good  companion.  He's 
a  good  fellow;"  and  the  Judge  chuckled  to  himself 
and  rubbed  his  hands  together,  and  went  back  to  his 
study,  muttering  to  himself  all  kinds  of  pleasant 
things  about  Tom  Whitlock. 

And  Mary  said  to  herself  that  he  was  "  a  nice  fel- 
low, and  lots  of  fun;"  and  so  Tom  was  getting  along 
famously  in  the  Judge's  household. 

"I'm  accepted,  on  probation,"  was  Tom's  greet- 
ing to  Dinsmore,  as  he  came  into  his  room,  on  his 
return  from  Judge  Lowther's. 

"  A  rather  doubtful  sentence,  the  full  meaning  of 
which,  I  do  not  catch,  off-hand.  Accepted  as  what? 
On  what  probation  ?"  answered  Dinsmore. 

"  Accepted  as  cavalier  to  Miss  Mary  Lowther  and 
chief  psalm-singer  to  your  Reverence.  On  proba- 
tion as  to  my  conduct,  and  sobriety  in  prayer-meet- 
ing, especially  in  the  matter  of  remaining  awake 
while  you  are  preaching,  and  being  discreet  in  my 
style  of  rendering  the  hymns  which  you  assign  to  us  " 
answered  Tom,  flinging  himself  on  the  lounge  and 
lighting  a  cigar. 

"Did  the'Widder'  seem  to  miss  me  at  supper," 
he  asked,  after  he  had  given  a  few  puffs  and  watched 
the  rings  of  smoke  as  they  floated  upward.  "  There's 
a  beauty  ",  he  said,  as  he  watched  a  very  perfect  ring 
float  toward  the  ceiling.  "  I've  got  that  down  pretty 
fine.     I  say,  was  I  missed  at  supper?" 

"You're  always  missed,  Tom.     You  make  a  posi- 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  225 

tive  mark  wherever  you  go,  and  your  absence  makes 
itself  felt." 

"That's  not  what  I  mean;  was  there  a  dreamy 
vacancy  in  the  'Widder's'  eyes,  a  dreary  sort  of 
blank  in  her  voice,  a  distraught  manner,  as  if  she  was 
trying  to  recall  a  fleeting  memory?" 

"No!"  answered  Dinsmore.  "  I  cannot  truthfully 
say  that  I  noted  any  of  these  symptoms.  Perhaps 
she  was  skilfully  concealing  her  feelings." 

"I've  no  doubt  of  it.  That's  what  she  generally 
is  doing",  replied  Tom.  "Did  she  mention  my 
name?" 

"Yes"  said  Dinsmore,  "and  asked  where  you 
were." 

"And  you  told  her,  I  presume." 

"Yes!     I  told  her",  replied  Dinsmore. 

"Well!  what  did  she  have  to  say  then.  You're 
as  hard  to  draw  as  the  cork  of  an  old  bottle  of  port," 
said  Tom. 

"  What  do  you  care  what  she  said  ;  when  you  think 
all  that  she  says  is  merely  for  effect?"  queried  Dins- 
more. 

"I  like  to  hear  it.  She's  fun,  if  she  is  hollow.  I 
like  to  hear  her  lay  it  on,  and  pretend  to  swallow  the 
bait." 

"  You  credit  Mrs.  Keene  with  far  more  finesse  than 
she  has.  As  you  come  to  know  her,  you  will  see  that 
her  feelings  are  more  real  than  pretended,  and  that 
she  looks  on  life  seriously  and  wants  to  know  just 
what  she  ought  to  do,  in  her  very  trying  situation," 
said  Dinsmore,  in  a  positive  tone. 

"  Let  us  not  renew  that  well-worn  theme ",  said 
15 


226  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Tom,  "  I  like  that  Miss  Lowther  better  every  time  I 
see  her.  It  would  not  do  for  me,  in  the  present,  and 
prospective,  very  limited  state  of  my  resources,  to 
see  too  much  of  her,  unless  you  can  assure  me  that 
the  Judge  is  so  fond  of  her,  that  he  would  let  his 
affection  extend  to  any  one  that  was  fond  of  her. 
Take  her  all  in  all,  on  a  short  acquaintance,  I  will 
say  that  I  never  met  a  nicer  girl.  She  is  every  way 
nice,  good  enough  looking  to  be  very  pretty  to  a 
man  who  was  in  love  with  her,  jolly  and  sweet  in 
manner  and  disposition ;  a  kind  of  girl  that  a  man 
wouldn't  tire  of.      She'd  wear  well." 

"  Miss  Lowther  would  feel  much  obliged  for  your 
good  opinion,  Tom  ",  laughed  Dinsmore.  "  But  it  was 
always  your  way  to  think  most  of  what  your  opinion 
of  a  girl  was,  rather  than  what  she  might  think  of 
you." 

"Well!  of  course  I  do.  That's  the  order  of  nature. 
If  I  don't  like  her,  then  a  fig  for  what  she  thinks  of 
me.  The  first  consideration  is '  Do  1  like  her  ? ' ;  if  I 
do,  then,  and  only  then,  does  it  become  a  matter  of 
interest  to  inquire  'Does  she  like  me.'  That's  logic 
isn't  it?" 

"  Yes;  that's  your  kind  of  logic." 

"  Well,  my  kind  is  the  kind  that  suits  my  case. 
But  I  am  not  in  disfavor  with  Miss  Lowther,  I  can 
assure  you,"  said  Tom.  "You  shall  see  us  sit  side 
by  side,  to-morrow  evening,  in  your  prayer-meeting, 
and  hear  our  voices  sweetly  blend  in  psalm  and  hymn. 
I'm  going  to  do  the  whole  figure  as  visiting  friend  of 
the  parson.  You'll  find  I  have  done  you  credit, 
when   I   get   through.     They'll  like  you  none  the 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  227 

worse  for  having  such  a  fellow  as  me  for  your  friend;" 
and  Tom  chuckled  to  himself. 

"Age  does  not  dim  your  shining  light,  Tom. 
When  I  feel  that  I  am  growing  old  and  dull  under 
my  burdens  here,  I  shall  send  for  you  to  come  up 
and  renew  our  youth,"  answered  Dinsmore. 

"  You  will  not  need  to  send  for  me.  I  am  your 
unbidden  guest;  who  will  return  Spring  and  Fall  for 
fish  and  bird ;  and  incidentally  to  stir  you  up.  When 
does  the  'Widder  '  flit?" 

"I  don't  know",  answered  Dinsmore,  "she  was 
asking  the  same  question  about  you,  last  evening. 
I  suppose  she  wants  to  time  her  leaving  so  as  to  have 
you  for  a  travelling  companion." 

"  The  mischief  she  does,"  said  Whitlock,  sitting  up 
on  the  lounge.  "  Is  that  honest  or  only  some  of  your 
chaff?" 

"  She  asked  me  about  it,  at  supper,"  said  Dinsmore. 

"  Well  I  hope  you  told  her  that  railroad  travelling 
made  me  nervous,  and  I  had  to  smoke,  all  the  while, 
to  keep  myself  in  decent  trim,  and  that  riding  inside 
a  coach  made  me  sick,  and  I  had  to  be  on  top  to  get 
air,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  told  her  nothing  of  the  kind.  There  was  no 
chance  to  do  so,  and  if  there  had  been,  I  should  not 
have  taken  that  responsibility.  I  left  it  for  you  to 
explain  your  personal  peculiarities  as  a  traveller " 
answered  Dinsmore  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  tone,  as 
though  the  subject  was  losing  interest  for  him. 

"Well  that  is  the  dickens  of  a  situation  for  me," 
said  Tom.  "You  seem  to  think  nothing  of  it;  but 
here  am  I  booked  to  play  cavalier  to  that  woman  for 


228  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

about  six  hours  on  the  stage  and  four  more  on  the 
cars,  and  reach  the  City  about  ten  o'clock  at  night. 
See  here,  you  are  not  to  know  the  day  when  I  leave; 
do  you  understand?" 

"That's  well  enough,  but  if  I  mistake  not,  I  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Mrs.  Keene  will  proba- 
bly get  her  information  directly  from  you,"  said  Dins- 
more. 

"Well  you  have  made  a  mess  of  it,  Harry.  To 
book  me  as  escort  to  that  woman;  when  you  know 
how  we  always  are  at  cross  purposes, "  retorted  Tom. 

"  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  came  here,  at 
this  particular  juncture;  Mrs.  Keene  was  here;  she 
is  about  to  leave,  and  sees  in  you  an  eligible  travelling 
companion,  able  and  willing  to  look  after  a  lady,  as 
every  nice  gentleman  should  be." 

"  I  hold  you  responsible  for  it,"  answered  Tom,  as 
he  bid  Dinsmore  good-night. 

His  fears  were  confirmed  when,  at  breakfast,  Mrs. 
Keene  turned  to  him,  with  one  of  her  sweetest  smiles, 
and  said,  "  I  was  afraid  that  you  had  left  us,  Mr. 
Whitlock.     How  soon  do  you  go?" 

Dinsmore  smiled  as  Tom  caught  his  eye,  and  his 
answer  to  Mrs.  Keene's  question  was  more  embar- 
rassed than  the  occasion  seemed  to  call  for ;  "  I  really 
am  not  quite  sure,  Mrs.  Keene.  I  shall  try  to  choose 
a  sunny  day  when  I  can  ride  on  top  of  the  coach. 
It  is  pretty  cold  for  an  outside  passage;  but  I  can't 
endure  the  inside  of  those  stuffy  old  vehicles." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  ",  said  Mrs.  Keene.  "  It 
is  a  stupid  ride,  inside.  On  the  outside,  in  this  glo- 
rious autumn  weather,  it  is  a  treat.     If  the  sun  is 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  229 

shining  and  you  are  well  wrapped  up,  this  dry  air, 
even  on  a  cold  day,  is  exhilarating  and  one  does  not 
suffer  any  harm." 

"  Even  on  a  rainy  day,  I  prefer  the  top  of  the 
coach  ",  said  Tom,  desperately,  as  Dinsmore  trod  on 
his  foot  under  the  table. 

"So  do  I,"  answered  Mrs.  Keene,  who,  it  seemed 
to  Tom,  was  in  an  unusually  complaisant  mood  this 
morning.  "Wrap  yourself  in  a  water-proof,  and 
then  let  the  cool  rain  pour  on  your  face.  I  like  the 
wind  and  the  rain  and  the  sun,  if  you  are  only  fixed 
to  meet  them." 

Plainly  on  this  tack  there  lay  no  escape  for  him; 
he  thought  of  suggesting  that  he  proposed  to  walk 
to  Weston;  but  that  was  a  twenty-five  mile  trudge; 
so  he  let  the  matter  drop,  trusting  that  something 
would  turn  up  that  would  let  him  slip  off  unnoticed. 
He  let  the  talk  drift  to  other  things  and  kept  dis- 
creetly quiet. 

"You  were  very  shy  and  retiring  this  morning;  an 
unwonted  mood  for  you,  Tom,"  said  Dinsmore,  as 
they  stood  on  the  balcony,  after  breakfast. 

"  Why  didn't  you  sail  in  and  help  me  ?"  asked  Tom. 

"What  help  could  I  give  you?  What  business  was 
it  of  mine  to  regulate  when,  how,  or  with  whom  you 
should  travel  to  the  city?  I  think  you  would  make 
a  pleasant  escort  for  Mrs.  Keene,  you  would  get  to 
know  one  another  better  and  would  form  a  truer  es- 
timate of  each  other,"  said  Dinsmore. 

"I  like  that,"  answered  Tom.  "I  hold  you  re- 
sponsible for  this.  You  got  me  into  it;  and  I'll  get 
even  with  you  for  it." 


230  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  That's  right  ",  said  Dinsmore;  "  hit  the  first  head 
that  bobs  up,  when  you  are  disgruntled.  You  had 
better  get  your  gun  and  work  off  some  of  your  ven- 
geance on  the  partridges.  They  have  more  to  do 
with  the  situation  than  I  have." 

"  All  right "  answered  Tom.  "  I'm  going  to  Pleas- 
ant Pond,  and  shall  have  a  shot  with  Barbara  and  find 
out  from  her  whether  the  fates  decree  that  I  have 
got  to  travel  with  the  '  Widder '  and  her  darling  boy. 
In  the  evening  I  am  to  escort  Miss  Lowther  to 
prayer-meeting  under  a  positive  engagement  not  to 
nod  to  your  exhortations." 

At  prayer-meeting  Tom  kept  his  promise,  loyally, 
to  behave  himself  in  a  way  to  prove  that  the  trust 
reposed  in  him  was  not  misplaced. 

He  kept  his  eyes  tightly  shut  during  prayer  time; 
he  sang  the  hymns  with  a  gentle  solemnity,  and  his 
voice  blended  so  nicely  with  Mary's  that  she  found 
it  a  real  pleasure  to  sing  with  him;  he  kept  his  eyes 
fastened  on  Dinsmore's  face,  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end  of  his  talk,  and  only  uncrossed  his  legs  once, 
and  did  not  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  arm  of  the  seat. 

"  How  did  I  do  ?"  he  asked  Mary,  when  the  bene- 
diction was  pronounced. 

"You  did  very  well  indeed?"  she  answered  grave- 
ly; and  Tom  was  pleased  with  himself,  and  with 
her. 

He  waited  while  Mary  went  up  to  give  Dinsmore  a 
message  from  her  father  about  the  church  plans;  and 
then  he  and  Mary  walked  down  the  village  green, 
chatting  and  laughing  merrily.  Tom  felt  the  re- 
bound from  prayer-meeting. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  231 

As  Dinsmore  followed  them,  at  a  short  distance, 
he  could  overhear  their  merry  talk,  and,  in  the  bright 
moonlight,  see  their  buoyant  steps. 

What  a  lovable  fellow  Tom  was;  how  quickly  he 
could  win  his  way,  even  with  strangers.  He  was 
winning  his  way  to  Mary  Lowther's  heart. 

Mary  Lowther  had  become,  in  every  way  a  part  of 
the  young  minister's  life;  how  much  so  he  had  not 
realized,  until  now  that  he  saw  the  prize  being  borne 
off  before  his  eyes. 

Insensibly  her  picture  was  blended,  in  his  mind, 
with  all  his  future  plans.  They  had  worked  together 
so  often,  and  so  well,  that  her  help  seemed  indispen- 
sable to  success  in  any  of  his  undertakings. 

He  had  never  felt  this  before  as  he  felt  it  now. 
But  he  began  to  ask  himself,  by  what  right  had  he 
quietly  appropriated  this  girl  to  himself. 

She  had  certainly  never  given  him  that  right.  She 
was  his  friend  and  helper,  and  nothing  more. 

From  this  it  was  but  a  step  to  question,  was  it 
right?  And  above  all  was  it  right,  now,  when  his 
friend  had  felt,  and  shown,  an  interest  in  the  girl 
which  he  himself  had  never  shown. 

What  had  he  to  offer  her  in  comparison  with  what 
Tom  could  offer?  He  had  not  Tom's  sunny,  happy 
nature,  his  strong  relish  for  humor,  his  flow  of  buoy- 
ant spirits,  that  tided  him  so  lightly  over  the  rocks 
or  shoals  of  life. 

Her  life  with  Tom  would  be  in  a  larger  world, 
which  she  was,  in  every  way,  fitted  to  enjoy. 

Her  life  with  him  would  be  a  monotonous  round, 
in  this  little  mountain  village. 


232  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Above  all,  she  was  probably  as  much  interested  in 
Tom  as  he  was  in  her,  for  Tom  was  a  fellow  that  a 
girl  must  like,  even  on  a  short  acquaintance. 

He  had  put  himself  in  such  a  position  that  he 
must  stand  aside  for  his  friend,  and,  if  he  were  loyal 
at  heart,  do  even  more  than  this,  he  must  speak  a 
good  word  for  him,  when  Mary  or  the  Judge  ques- 
tioned him  as  to  Tom's  antecedents. 

He  thought  of  the  many  times  when  Mary's  ear- 
nest talk  over  matters  in  which  they  were  mutually 
interested,  might  have  given  him  the  chance  to  tell 
her  of  his  love. 

And  then  he  reproached  himself,  as  he  remembered 
that  it  was  in  his  work  that  she  had  shown  an  inter- 
est, not  in  himself;  and  what  a  mean  advantage  it 
would  have  been  to  interpret  her  nobler  interest  into 
this  lower,  personal  one. 

He  walked  very  slowly  down  the  village  green, 
and  listened  to  their  voices  as  they  died  away  in  the 
distance. 

As  he  came  into  the  Inn  Mrs.  Keene  sat  in  the 
parlor. 

"  Your  friend  Mr.  Whitlock  is  a  truant  to-night," 
she  said. 

"  Oh  no,"  answered  Dinsmore,  "he  was  at  prayer- 
meeting." 

"  Then  he  has  slipped  the  leash,  since  prayer-meet- 
ing", she  suggested. 

"Yes,  he  has  taken  Miss  Lowther  home,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"After  the  penance,  a  sweet  indulgence.  What  a 
charming  pair  they  make,"  continued  Mrs.   Keene; 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  233 

"and  they  are  thoroughly  interested  in  one  another. 
It  will  be  a  nice  thing  for  a  girl  as  capable  as  Mary 
to  have  the  advantage  of  city  life.  She  will  make  a 
very  attractive  woman." 

Dinsmore  made  no  answer  but  to  bid  Mrs.  Keene 
"  Good-night ;"  as  he  turned  away  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  lifted  her  eyebrows,  and  smiled,  as  she 
watched  Dinsmore  leave  the  room. 

He  looked  pale,  and  was  more  tired  than  usual 
after  a  prayer-meeting. 

When  he  went  to  his  room,  he  did  not  light  his 
lamp;  but  sat  down  by  the  window  and  looked  out 
on  the  moonlight.  Over  and  over  again  he  retraced 
the  line  of  thought  that  he  had  followed,  on  his  way 
down  from  prayer-meeting;  and  with  each  repetition, 
he  became  more  convinced  that  it  was  the  right  and 
generous  course  for  him  to  take. 

Now  it  remained  to  be  seen  whether  he  could 
do  it  in  a  generous  way,  and  not  with  such  envy  as 
would  rob  his  conduct  of  graciousness  toward  his 
friend. 

But  never  until  now  did  he  realize  how  thoroughly 
the  thought  of  Mary  Lowther  had  woven  itself  into 
his  heart  and  into  his  work. 

He  felt  that  he  was  now  to  learn  the  very  lesson 
that  he  needed.  He  had  been  imagining  that  it  was 
his  work  that  was  filling  his  heart  and  hopes;  the 
sacred  ministry  to  which  he  had  devoted  himself, 
that  was  leading  him  on;  but  now  he  is  revealed  to 
himself  as  one  who  was  letting  the  love  of  this  girl 
stand  for  devotion  to  his  sacred  mission. 

He  heard  Tom's  step,  as  he  came  down  the  village 


234  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

street.  It  was  brisk  and  cheery,  and  he  was  whistling 
like  a  lark. 

Dinsmore's  first  instinct  was  to  lock  his  door,  as 
though  he  had  gone  to  bed. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  He  lit  his  lamp 
and  waited  for  Tom's  coming. 

"You  look  tired,  Harry,"  was  Tom's  greeting. 
"You  can  preach,  old  boy.  I  didn't  pinch  myself 
once  to-night.     Do  you  want  to  go  to  bed  ?" 

"No!  I  am  not  sleepy,  Tom;  but  I  am  very  tired. " 

"I  am  as  fresh  as  a  lark;  but  I  suppose  it  does 
make  a  difference  whether  you  are  filling  pulpit  or 
pew.  It  would  wear  me  out  to  preach.  You're  a 
level-headed  preacher,  Harry.  There's  no  nonsense 
in  your  sermons ;  they  are  straight  from  the  shoulder. " 

"  Nonsense  is  not  a  common  quality  of  sermons, 
Tom." 

"  No,  but  I  have  heard  as  sheer  nonsense  from  a 
pulpit  desk  as  I  ever  heard  anywhere  in  my  life; 
perfect  rot." 

"  I  have  been  more  fortunate,  Tom.  I  think  I 
never  heard  anything  quite  so  bad  as  you  describe. 
'The  worst  speak  something  good.  If  all  want  sense 
God  takes  a  text  and  preacheth  patience  '  so  says 
godly  George  Herbert.  You  have  commended  me, 
I  must  in  fairness  say  a  good  word  for  you  as  a  most 
excellent  hearer,  and  a  great  help  in  the  singing." 

"Oh;  I  can  do  the  square  thing  by  a  friend,  in 
almost  any  circumstances,"  answered  Tom.  "Just 
take  me  on  the  right  tack,  and  you'll  find  me  on 
deck,  every  time." 

Dinsmore  smiled  kindly  on  him.      What  a  good 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  235 

fellow  he  was,  and,  where  service  to  a  friend  was  in 
question,  how  loyally  he  rendered  it. 

He  had  looked  so  demure,  almost  docile,  as  he  sat 
in  prayer-meeting,  like  a  dog  in  leash,  that  Dinsmore 
would  hardly  have  recognized  him  in  a  strange  place. 

This  was  his  loyal  tribute  of  friendship;  could  he 
be  as  loyal  to  Tom? 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Harry,  I  don't  want  to  do 
anything  rashly,  but  if  I  had  been  as  head-over-heels 
as  some  people  think  me,  1  believe  I  would  have 
been  engaged  to  Miss  Lowther,  to-night;  that  is, 
always  supposing  she  would  have  followed  scripture 
and  said  yea,  yea.  I  don't  believe  she  would  have 
said  nay,  nay;  although  doubtless  she  would  have 
cooled  my  ardor,  by  postponing  matters  or  remand- 
ing me  to  the  Judge  for  sentence.  She  certainly 
likes  me;  don't  you  think  so?" 

"As  far  as  I  can  judge,  she  certainly  does.  Most 
girls  do,"  answered  Dinsmore. 

"  Did  she  ever  say  anything  to  you  about  me, 
Harry?  Does  she  ever  talk  about  me  ?  What  does 
she  talk  about  to  you,  anyway?  I  can't  think 
what  such  a  jolly  girl,  so  full  of  fun  would  say  to  a 
minister." 

Dinsmore  laughed,  more  heartily  than  he  had  since 
prayer-meeting.  "What  do  you  talk  about  with  me, 
Tom  ?  Perhaps  other  people  wonder  what  such  a 
jolly  fellow,  full  of  fun  and  sport,  can  find  to  talk 
about  to  a  minister." 

"Oh;  but  that's  different.  Girls  are  always  sen- 
timental with  ministers,  and  talk  about  their  feelings, 
and  things  just  on  the  edge  of  love  talk." 


236  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"Well,  on  that  point  I  can  satisfy  your  mind,  at 
once.  Miss  Lovvther  does  not  talk  sentiment  nor 
anything  verging  in  the  least  on  'love  talk'  as  you 
call  it.  On  the  contrary  her  talk  is  about  others 
than  herself,  and  of  the  most  practical  kind." 

"Harry,  I  can't  make  that  girl  out.  She's  as 
free  with  me,  in  one  sense,  as  if  I  were  a  girl,  or  she 
a  man;  in  another  sense,  she  holds  me  at  more  than 
arm's  length.  We  are  jolly  comrades,  but  I  would 
not  care  to  presume  on  that,  one  inch;  and  she  can 
side-track  a  fellow  as  easily  as  turning  a  switch." 

"  You  seem  to  know  her  pretty  well,  Tom.  On 
that  side,  I  suspect  you  know  her  better  than  I  do." 

"Did  she  ever  talk  about  me  Harry?  What  do 
you  think  my  chances  would  be  with  such  a  girl  ?" 

"  I  think  your  chances  would  be  good  with  almost 
any  girl,  Tom.  You  are  the  kind  that  the  girls 
like." 

"  There  you're  all  out,  Harry.  If  you  and  I  were 
to  start  in  after  the  same  girl  (which  Heaven  forbid!) 
you'd  do  me  up  on  the  first  quarter.  It's  your  pale, 
big-eyed  chap,  with  a  black  moustache  and  wavy 
hair,  that  takes  the  girls;  my  light  hair,  blue  eyes, 
and  hopeless  upper  lip  are  not  in  it.  They'll  have 
their  fun  with  me,  but  are  ready  to  drop  it  any  time 
that  I  say  quits,  sometimes  sooner.  If  love's  in  the 
question  they  want  something  sort  of  tender.  Now 
I  could  be  awfully  fond  of  a  girl,  and  give  her  my 
head,  if  she  wanted  it;  but  I  couldn't  be  tender.  I'm 
not  made  that  way,"  and  Tom's  face  was  fairly 
rueful. 

"  That  humility  of  yours  which  I  discredited,  does 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  237 

really  seem  to  exist  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart.  I 
think  however,  that  you  need  not  take  quite  so  low 
a  view  of  your  powers  to  please,  Tom." 

"Oh;  I  can  please  'em,  every  time;  but  I  don't 
believe  they'll  fall  in  love  with  me." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  it  is  your  deliberate 
wish  to  have  women,  as  a  rule,  fall  in  love  with  you  ?" 
and  Dinsmore  smiled  at  the  thought  of  Tom  pursued 
by  a  host  of  these  love-lorn  ladies. 

"Goodness  alive;  no;  but  I  may  want  some  wo- 
man to  fall  in  love  with  me,  sometime  or  other. 
This  Miss  Lowther  seems  so  different  from  most 
girls,  so  jolly,  as  if  I  might  suit  her,  if  she  only 
thought  so.  I  do  not  consider  myself  in  love  with 
the  girl.  Hang  it  all!  I  don't  know  what  has  gotten 
me  into  this  vein.  It  must  have  been  going  to  your 
prayer-meeting  that  has  made  me  soft.  You  under- 
stand, Harry,  don't  you,  that  I'm  not  in  love  with 
the  girl.  I  haven't  been  spooning  with  her;  she 
isn't  that  kind  and  I'm  not  that  kind.  I  was  only 
suggesting,  just  as  you  might,  what  would  be  my 
chances  with  Miss  Lowther,  if  I  concluded  to  try; 
no  man  need  be  afraid  to  try,  he'd  be  in  luck  if  he 
succeeded.  But  after  all,  that's  the  question,  would 
it  be  well  to  try?  If  I  go  in,  I  go  in  to  win.  Give 
me  a  bit  of  pastoral  counsel,  Harry;  would  you  ad- 
vise me  to  try?"  and  Tom  waited  for  Dinsmore's 
answer,  as  if  he  really  meant  to  abide  by  his  counsel. 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,  Tom,  I  should  certainly 
try  to  win  that  girl  for  my  wife,  if  I  thought  there 
was  any  chance  for  me;"  and  with  this  sentence, 
spoken  slowly  and  deliberately,  Dinsmore  felt  that 


238  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

he  renounced  all  thought  of  Mary  Lowther  as  his 
helpmeet  in  the  work  of  his  Hillside  Parish. 

"  I  shall  follow  your  good  advice,  for  it  accords 
perfectly  with  my  own  views,"  said  Tom,  rising  to 
go  to  bed;  "and  give  me  your  blessing,  in  pushing 
it  to  a  successful  issue." 

"  Success  to  you,  Tom,  you  were  born  under  a 
lucky  star;  but  remember  that,  entering  on  such  a 
race,  no  man  has  the  right  to  take  the  hunter's  view, 
that  Mrs.  Keene  accuses  our  sex  of  taking.  In  such 
a  matter  the  woman  is  to  be  thought  of  first;  and 
her  happiness  and  peace  of  mind  ought  to  be  the  first 
consideration." 

"Mercy,  Harry,  don't  preach  to  me  like  that. 
I'm  not  going  to  shoot  the  girl,  if  she  refuses  me; 
as  it  is  more  than  likely  that  she  will." 

As  Tom  left  the  room  with  a  jovial  "  Good-night," 
Dinsmore  settled  himself  to  review  the  situation. 

In  this  first  encounter  with  the  buoyant,  happy 
wooer  of  Mary  Lowther,  he  had  been  successful,  and 
Tom  had  left  him  without  one  thought  that  he  had 
taken  away  one  of  his  cherished  hopes.  It  pleased 
him  to  think  he  had  thus  far  mastered  his  selfishness. 

Then  came  thoughts  of  what  his  life  would  be 
when  he  settled  down  to  work  alone;  when  he  would 
have  no  one  nearer  than  Mrs.  Livingston  to  appre- 
ciate and  share  in  his  plans  for  his  life  work.  And  as 
he  thought,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  burden  was 
heavy  and  would  grow  heavier.  The  thought  was 
like  an  east  wind,  gradually  spreading  the  first  thin 
vapor,  which  will  cover  the  sky  with  a  uniform, 
leaden  gray. 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH  239 

At  last  wearied  with  the  recurrent  thought,  he 
went  to  bed  and  fell  into  a  restless  sleep  and  dreamed 
it  all  over  again,  with  a  vividness  that  endowed  it 
with  reality,  even  after  he  was  awake. 

During  the  remainder  of  Tom's  visit,  Dinsmore 
spent  his  time,  chiefly  in  making  visits  to  the  out- 
lying settlements,  and  studiously  avoided  Judge 
Lowther's  house. 

Tom  as  studiously  frequented  the  premises,  and 
entertained  Dinsmore,  in  the  evenings,  with  the  re- 
cital of  the  progress  he  was  making  in  his  suit  with 
Mary,  to  all  of  which  Dinsmore  listened  with  patience, 
if  not  with  enthusiasm. 

"Yet  after  all,"  said  Tom  on  the  last  day  of  his 
vacation,  "I  don't  seem  to  have  made  the  requisite 
progress.  I  haven't  the  proper  sentimental  gift. 
I'm  not  tender  and  persuasive;  I'm  there  on  a  good 
footing;  but  somehow  I'm  only  there.  I  don't  know 
what's  the  matter;  but  I'd  rather  take  a  mad  bull 
by  the  horns  than  propose  to  that  girl." 

Tom  was  going  to  drive  down,  that  afternoon, 
with  Farmer  Brown,  and  thus  avoid  playing  cavalier 
to  Mrs.  Keene. 

"I've  given  the  'widder'  the  slip,  any  way,"  he 
said,  gleefully.  "  And  when  I  am  gone,  Harry,  say 
a  good  word  for  me,  will  you  ?" 

"  To  Mrs.  Keene  ?"  queried  Dinsmore,  "  I  am  afraid 
her  ears  will  not  be  open  to  any  good  word  in  your 
behalf." 

"A  plague  on  the  'widder.'  She's  deaf  as  an 
adder  to  any  good  word,  for  any  one.  But  when  I 
am  gone  (pathetic  you  see),  speak  gently  of  me  to 


24°  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Miss  Mary.  I'm  coming  back,  next  Spring,  and 
then,  perhaps  I  will  dare  to  try  my  fortune.  Break 
up  the  soil  for  me;  there's  a  good  fellow.  I've  had 
an  awfully  good  time,  Harry,  and  I'm  glad  I  came. 
If  any  of  my  clients  have  a  nice  farm,  with  as  good 
shooting  and  fishing,  as  nice  girls,  and  as  kind  people 
as  you  have  in  your  parish,  I'll  think  I'm  in  luck. 
Good-bye,  till  next  Spring,"  shouted  Tom,  as  they 
drove  off;  and  Dinsmore  watched  him,  wondering 
whether  he  took  away  with  him  the  heart  of  Mary 
Lowther. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE  light  came  cold  and  gray  through  the  green 
blinds  of  his  room  as  Dinsmore  turned  un- 
easily and  half  opened  his  eyes,  closing  them  quickly 
again  for  he  thought  that  the  dawn  was  just  break- 
ing. But,  try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  force  him- 
self to  go  to  sleep.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
effort  he  recognized  the  fact  that  he  was  wide  awake 
and  could  not  help  matters  by  lying  longer  in  bed. 
He  listened  for  the  usual  sounds  of  life  astir  about 
the  Inn,  but  all  was  still ;  the  very  air  seemed  muffled 
as  the  gray  light  stole  between  the  closed  blinds. 

When  he  had  fought  with  wakefulness  until  resist- 
ance only  proved  how  wide  awake  he  was,  he  drew 
his  watch  from  under  his  pillow  and  found  that  it 
was  nearly  eight  o'clock. 

He  jumped  out  of  bed,  threw  open  his  blinds  and 
looked  out  on  the  leaden  sky  from  which  the  snow 
had  been  falling  all  night  until  now  it  was  nearly 
knee  deep,  on  the  level.  The  village  street  lay  un- 
trodden by  any  step  of  man  or  beast,  with  the  spell 
of  the  snow  upon  it.  In  front  of  his  window  stood 
a  load  of  tan-bark  on  a  wagon  where  the  teamster 
had  left  it,  late  last  night,  intending  to  take  up  his 
journey  in  the  morning.  The  snow  was  nearly  up 
to  the  hubs  of  the  wagon,  and  the  deep  red  color  of 
1 6  241 


242  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

the  bark  contrasted  strongly  with  the  snow  that 
covered  it.  As  he  stood  looking  at  the  load,  won- 
dering how  the  teamster  would  reach  his  destination 
now,  Bruno,  the  big  Newfoundland  dog  belonging 
to  the  Inn,  came  bounding  out,  barking,  dipping  his 
muzzle  into  the  snow  and  tossing  it  about. 

What  a  change  the  silent,  soft-falling  flakes  had 
made  in  the  whole  landscape.  What  a  complete 
transformation  of  the  relation  of  things.  In  the 
city  the  snow  means  only  added  dirt  and  discomfort; 
in  the  country  it  changes  at  once  the  whole  mode  of 
life. 

It  upsets  the  topography.  From  the  barn,  which 
is  only  a  few  steps  away  in  summer,  comes  the  low- 
ing of  the  cattle,  with  a  muffled,  distant  sound,  as  if 
they  were  in  the  far  pasture.  Now  it  has  become  a 
journey  to  reach  them;  for  every  step  of  the  way 
must  be  shovelled. 

How  disconsolate  and  isolated  the  chickens  are, 
afraid  to  leave  their  night's  perch,  unless  indeed 
some  venturesome  Spring  cock  who  has  never  seen 
snow,  has  been  rash  enough  to  fly  forth  and  is 
now  perched  fearsomely  on  some  fence  or  tree  or 
shed,  where  an  expedition  must  be  sent  to  rescue 
him. 

How  it  arouses  the  feeling  that  there  is  something 
to  be  done  for  each  department  of  the  farm-stead.  It 
is  as  if  the  whole  place  were  in  a  state  of  siege,  and 
the  garrison  of  each  portion  must  be  relieved. 

At  first  there  is  a  sense  of  exhilaration  in  this 
pressing  demand  for  extra  work,  but,  before  long,  it 
dwindles  into  the  drudgery  of  every  day;  but,  be- 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  243 

fore  the  novelty  is  worn  off,  what  prodigies  of  work 
the  first  snow  storm  calls  forth  from  man  and  boy  on 
an  isolated  farm. 

What  secrets  the  snow  reveals.  The  hard  earth 
tells  no  tales  to  the  country  boy,  but  in  the  new- 
fallen  snow,  he  finds  the  track  of  rabbit,  fox  or  bear. 
With  what  wondering  eyes  he  looks  on  these  and 
thrills  with  the  thought  of  how  lately  the  wild  crea- 
tures have  passed  that  way.  No  one  knows  this  who 
has  not  hung  breathlessly  over  such  traces  of  the 
hidden  life  about  us. 

As  the  day  wears  on,  the  long-suffering  oxen  are 
yoked  to  the  big  sled,  and  all  hands  that  can  be 
mustered,  start  out,  armed  with  shovels,  to  break 
the  road.  Each  farm  house  as  they  pass,  hails  them 
as  a  rescuing  party;  they  give  the  news  of  how  the 
inmates  fare  at  one  or  another  house,  and  new  re- 
cruits join  their  ranks. 

At  the  head  of  the  village,  just  beyond  Judge 
Lowther's  house,  there  is  a  heavy  cut,  where  the 
main  road  passes  over,  and  in  part  through,  the 
steep  and  narrow  hill.  Here  the  snow  always  drifts 
and  fills  the  cut  full. 

Through  this  it  is  impossible  to  break  a  road  and 
therefore  it  is  always  tunnelled,  and,  for  weeks,  all 
travel  is  through  the  snow  tunnel.  The  parties  from 
the  West  settlement  and  those  from  the  village  meet 
here  and  tunnel  from  either  end  until  they  reach  the 
centre. 

To  be  one  of  this  tunnelling  party  was  the  ambi- 
tion of  every  boy  in  the  West  settlement  and  in  the 
village;  what  excitement  as  they  hear  one  another 


244  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

in  the  tunnel  and  with  what  a  yell  the  first  boy  breaks 
through. 

But  as  yet  there  was  no  sign  of  all  this  active 
combat  with  the  storm's  silent  forces,  and  Dinsmore 
looked  out  on  the  untrodden  snow  that  made  the 
village  street  so  still,  as  though  all  sound  had  died. 

He  turned  away  from  the  gray  scene  to  dress;  the 
room  was  cold,  the  water  in  his  pitcher  was  frozen, 
the  bits  of  ice  floating  about  in  the  basin  numbed  his 
finger  tips,  and  made  his  morning  bath  decidedly 
uncomfortable. 

At  breakfast  the  long  dining  room  looked  dingy 
and  comfortless  in  the  cold,  gray  light.  There  was 
a  poor  fire  and  the  room  was  chilly.  The  only  occu- 
pant of  the  big  table  was  Miss  Amelia.  A  white, 
knitted  nubia,  with  a  crocheted,  blue,  shell  border, 
thrown  over  her  head  and  around  her  shoulders,  and 
the  gray  light  made  her  look  blue  and  cold.  Mrs. 
Hollis  was  in  bed,  afraid  to  expose  herself  to  the 
chill  dining-room  on  such  a  stormy  morning.  Mr. 
Forrester  too  was  taking  comfort  in  a  prolonged 
nap,  on  this  dismal  day. 

Tom  Whitlock  would  have  made  the  snow  storm 
a  merry  scene,  but  he  was  gone,  until  next  Spring, 
and  Mrs.  Keene  had  followed  two  days  later;  with 
Miss  Amelia  alone  for  company  the  snow  storm  was 
a  dreary  threnody. 

Mrs.  Joyce  served  the  first  buckwheat  cakes  and 
maple  syrup  of  the  season ;  but  they  did  not  dissipate 
the  dull  monotony  of  the  persistent  storm. 

Dinsmore  went  back  to  his  room,  it  was  chill  and 
uncomfortable;  do  what  he  would  to  feed  the  little 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  245 

stove  with  the  birch  wood  chunks,  he  could  not  make 
it  cheerful.  It  was  Saturday  and  he  worked,  all  the 
morning,  at  his  sermon  for  the  next  day. 

After  dinner  he  lit  a  cigar,  kindled  up  the  fire 
anew,  took  a  book  and,  seating  himself  before  the 
fire,  tried  to  feel  comfortable  and  jolly.  It  kept  on 
snowing  hard,  all  day;  it  seemed  as  if  the  heavens 
were  full  of  snow,  and  would  never  weary  of  drop- 
ping it  softly  and  steadily  over  the  earth. 

From  time  to  time  Dinsmore  rose  from  his  seat 
before  the  fire  and  walked  to  the  window. 

It  was  not  hard  to  be  comfortable;  with  a  bright 
fire,  his  cigar  and  the  "  Noctes  Ambrosianse  "  in  his 
hands,  he  could  easily  find  creature  comfort;  but  it 
was  not  so  easy  to  be  jolly. 

The  steady  onding  of  the  storm  weighed  on  his 
spirits. 

The  day  wore  on  toward  evening,  and,  through 
the  winter  twilight,  the  snow  fell  persistently,  as  if 
it  was  the  destiny  of  the  earth  to  be  buried  under 
the  soft,  white  pall,  gentle  but  resistless  as  the  feet 
of  the  avenging  gods  that  are  shod  with  wool. 

Dinsmore  closed  the  shutters,  lit  his  lamp,  and 
tried  to  think  his  room  cheery,  and  that  the  wintry 
waste  was  shut  out. 

He  spent  the  evening  in  revising  his  sermon  for 
to-morrow. 

Sunday  morning  dawned  cold  and  gray.  The 
snow  had  ceased  falling,  but  all  the  roads  were 
blocked,  and  there  would  be  no  one  at  church  out- 
side the  small  congregation  which  the  village  would 
muster. 


24&  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

Even  in  the  village  the  paths  were  only  partly 
shovelled  out;  in  the  country  they  were  busy  still 
cutting  paths  to  the  stock,  the  barns  and  the  fodder. 

It  promised  to  be  a  dreary  kind  of  service. 

The  light  came  through  the  green  blinds  of  the 
church,  a  dull  uniform  gray;  the  wet  wood  hissed  in 
the  stoves.  Dinsmore  took  his  place  in  the  pulpit. 
The  stamping  of  feet  in  the  vestibule  sounded  like  a 
troop  of  cavalry  invading  the  church;  the  sexton 
stood  ready  with  his  broom  to  sweep  the  snow  off  of 
each  comer. 

The  young  people  came  laughing  into  church,  and 
gathered  around  the  stoves  greeting  one  another  in 
a  louder  tone  than,  on  ordinary  occasions,  was  fitting 
and  decorous.  The  usual  restraints  were  laid  aside 
in  face  of  the  snow-storm,  which  obliterated  the 
ordinary  features  of  every  day  life. 

Sally  Hill  was  there  to  play  the  melodeon;  but 
Abijah  Shelton  the  deacon's  son,  was  absent,  from 
stress  of  circumstances,  and  so  the  big  bass  viol  stood 
idly  against  the  wall. 

Newman  Diggs,  whose  visits  to  church  were  few 
and  far  between,  was  there.  On  a  day  like  this, 
he  felt  called  upon  to  turn  out,  either  on  the  theory 
of  encouraging  the  pastor  when  there  were  few  on 
hand,  or  because  he  felt  that  he  could  appropriate  a 
larger  share  of  the  sermon  to  himself.  He  listened 
to  a  sermon  always  with  the  thought  uppermost  of 
what  it  would  furnish  in  the  way  of  controversy.  At 
such  times,  when  there  was,  perchance,  not  a  single 
person  between  him  and  the  minister  the  sermon  was 
a  sort  of  personal   challenge  to  argument;  and  he 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  247 

could  listen  and  fill  his  mind  with  points  in  contro- 
versy. 

Mary  Lowther  came  in,  her  cheeks  red  with  the 
exertion  of  walking  through  the  snow,  her  eyes 
glowing.  As  she  took  her  seat  she  caught  Dins- 
more's  eye  as  he  sat  in  the  pulpit,  and  she  smiled  at 
him;  almost  nodded  to  him. 

Every  one  spoke  to  her  as  she  passed  into  the 
church,  on  every  face  she  left  a  smile.  As  she  took 
her  seat,  the  light  in  the  church  did  not  seem  so 
gray  and  cold,  she  had  brought  sunshine  with  her, 
the  smile  on  the  faces  of  those  to  whom  she  had 
spoken  left  a  warmth  upon  them. 

Sally  Hill  beckoned  to  Mary  to  come  up  and  help 
her  with  the  singing,  as  she  was  alone  and  must 
play  the  melodeon.  As  Mary's  sympathetic  voice 
rang  through  the  empty  church,  it  seemed  to  impart 
life  to  the  service,  and  Dinsmore  felt  more  interest 
in  preaching  to  the  small  congregation,  on  this  cold 
snowy  day,  than  he  had  often  felt  when  the  sun 
shone  bright  and  the  church  was  full. 

It  was  a  pleasant  service;  but  when  he  went  down 
to  dinner  in  the  dingy,  chill  dining-room  of  the  Inn 
how  cheerless  it  was. 

He  hurried  through  dinner  and  went  up  to  his 
room;  it  was  snowing  again  and  h£  could  not  go  out 
to  any  of  the  school-houses,  for  an  afternoon  service. 
Mr.  Forrester  came  in  to  say  that  he  would  not  hold 
any  evening  service,  on  such  a  stormy  night. 

How  the  hours  lingered,  as  if  they  too  were  clogged 
by  the  snow.  He  was  restless,  and  with  no  means 
of  working  off  his  restlessness.      Once  he  thought  of 


248  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

going  down  to  take  tea  with  Mrs.  Livingston;  but, 
on  reflection,  concluded  that  he  was  not  in  the  mood 
to  talk  or  to  be  talked  to. 

If  he  had  been  called  to  go  out  into  the  night  and 
rescue  some  one  fallen  in  the  snow,  that  would  have 
suited  his  mood.  He  went  out  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  balcony  for  a  couple  of  hours.  Out  in  the 
storm  it  was  invigorating;  shut  up  in  his  narrow 
quarters  it  was  oppressive. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

DINSMORE  woke  up  on  Monday  morning  and, 
as  he  looked  out,  the  same  spirit  of  adventure 
was  upon  him,  the  feeling  that  possesses  those  who 
live  in  the  country,  in  the  presence  of  a  snow  storm. 

There  was  no  snow  shovelling  for  him  to  do,  no 
dumb  creatures  waiting  on  him  to  release  them  from 
their  isolation. 

He  bethought  him  of  old  Barbara  Fisher  and  little 
Bab,  and  determined  to  go  out  to  see  them.  Two 
weeks  ago  the  child's  mother  had  died,  and  the 
father  solaced  his  grief  by  keeping  himself  in  a  per- 
petual stupor  with  opium.  Bab  had  gone  to  live 
with  old  Barbara. 

How  helpless  they  would  be,  the  old  woman  and 
the  little  child  alone,  with  the  great,  white  desert  all 
about  them.  He  went  to  Mrs.  Joyce  and  had  her 
fill  him  a  basket  of  stores,  tea,  bread  and  eggs,  and 
some  cookies  for  the  child,  and  started  out  on  his 
relief  expedition. 

The  road  to  the  North  Settlement  was  unbroken, 
and  as  he  tramped  on  in  the  deep  snow,  he  found 
that  it  was  no  Summer  stroll;  he  sank  knee-deep,  at 
every  step,  the  perspiration  stood  in  beads  on  his 
forehead,  his  breath  came  thick  and  hard,  and  the 
light  basket  of  provisions  became  a  heavy  load. 
249 


250  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

He  had  often  walked  it  in  thirty  minutes;  it  took 
him  now  an  hour  and  a  half  to  reach  the  point  where 
the  road  forks  to  Scooper's  Hollow. 

He  sat  on  the  fence  to  rest  and  looked  down  on 
the  little  hamlet  almost  hidden  under  the  snow.  The 
stupid  inhabitants  had  not  shown  energy  enough  to 
shovel  a  single  path.  Here  and  there  a  track,  like 
that  of  wild  animals,  showed  where  one  or  another 
had  stirred  from  his  lair. 

Dinsmore  went  down  the  untrodden  road,  and 
made  his  way  toward  Barbara's  hut,  at  the  far  end 
of  the  hamlet. 

No  footstep  had  broken  the  snow  there;  it  lay 
piled  upon  the  roof  and  on  the  window  sills  until  it 
shutout  half  the  daylight;  a  drift  before  the  door 
was  nearly  waist  deep. 

He  struggled  up  to  the  door,  and  felt  afraid  to 
knock.  When  a  childish  treble  answered  to  his 
knock  "  Come  in,"  his  heart  gave  a  bound  that  made 
him  appreciate  how  much  the  silence  around  the  hut 
had  filled  him  with  the  foreboding  of  death  within. 

As  he  came  in  from  the  broad  daylight  he  could 
scarcely  see,  at  first,  in  the  dim  light;  but  there,  in 
the  centre  of  her  charm-string,  with  her  wonder- 
book  open  in  her  lap,  sat  old  Barbara. 

She  was  bending  over  her  book  and,  for  a  moment, 
did  not  notice  Dinsmore.  Then  she  slowly  lifted 
her  head  and  he  saw,  at  once,  that  her  eye  was  dull 
and  her  voice  so  husky  that  it  was  hardly  audible. 

Bab  was  bending  over  her  with  a  picture  book 
that  she  had  gotten  at  their  Sunday  School.  It  was 
called  "The  Good  Shepherd,"  and  contained  four  or 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  251 

five  pictures  of  the  Shepherd  finding  the  lost  sheep, 
leading  them  to  the  fold,  and  carrying  the  lambs  in 
his  arms.  This  Bab  was  trying  to  show  to  Barbara, 
in  place  of  the  Wonder  Book,  which  had  no  such 
story,  and  no  bright  pictures. 

But  Barbara's  eyes  were  dim  and  she  querulously 
murmured,  "  I  cannot  see  the  Good  Shepherd,  child." 

"  But  there  He  is,  Grannie,  right  there  where  my 
finger  is  pointing;  I  will  show  Him  to  you." 

"  It  is  no  use,  child." 

Dinsmore  took  the  Wonder  Book  from  her  lap  and 
lifted  the  old  woman  up  and  laid  her  gently  on  her 
couch. 

Her  breath  came  in  quick,  short  pants,  and,  un- 
familiar as  he  was  with  wickness,  he  saw  that  she 
was  stricken  mortally. 

He  opened  the  cupboard  and  found  a  bottle  of 
spirits  and  tried  to  give  her  some;  but  she  was  too 
feeble  to  swallow.  He  built  up  the  fire  and  covered 
her  over  with  whatever  came  to  hand.  Gradually 
he  succeeded  in  giving  her  two  or  three  spoonsful  of 
the  spirits,  and,  under  its  influence,  she  revived. 

"  Have  you  come  for  Bab  ?"  was  her  first  question. 

"  No,  I  came  to  see  after  you  both  and  have 
brought  you  some  food  and  tea  and  sugar  in  that 
basket,"  he  replied. 

"  I  can't  eat  nor  drink.  I'm  going  to  die.  I  was 
settin'  in  my  charm-string,  tryin'  to  find  out  what 
was  to  become  o'  Bab,  when  I  was  gone,  and  to  see 
if  I  could  find  out  what  would  become  o'  me,  too." 

"  Grannie's  book  hasn't  no  pictures  like  mine.  I 
was  tryin'   to    show  her  where  the    Shepherd  was 


252  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

carryin'  the  lambs.  Miss  Mary  said  I  was  one  o' 
His  lambs;  but  Grannie  couldn't  see  it." 

"  Barbara,  the  Good  Shepherd  has  sent  me  here 
to-day,  to  tell  you  that  I  will  take  Bab,  when  you 
are  gone,  and  will  see  that  she  is  well  taught  and 
cared  for.      I  promise  you  that,  Barbara." 

"  I  believe  you,"  answered  the  old  woman. 

"  And  now,  Barbara,  let  me  talk  to  you  about 
yourself.  I  can  tell  you  what  the  Good  Shepherd 
says  about  what  will  become  of  you  when  you  die." 

"Yes,  Grannie,  here's  the  picture.  See  Him  with 
that  lamb.  Oh!  ain't  it  cute,  the  way  his  little  head 
is  lyin'  on  the  Shepherd's  shoulder.  That's  the 
verse  we  learned  last  Sunday.  'He  shall  carry  the 
lambs  in  his  arms  and  gadder  'em  in  his  bosom.' 
See  Grannie,"  and  she  pushed  the  picture  close  to 
the  old  woman's  face. 

"No,  I  can't  see  it  Bab.  That's  for  you,  child, 
not  for  me.  I'm  no  lamb,  I'm  a  tough,  old  ewe. " 
Bab  turned  away  discouraged,  and  looked  wistfully 
at  Dinsmore. 

"  Barbara  the  child  is  right.  In  the  sight  of  God, 
we  are  all  as  little  children.  The  Lord  Jesus,  who 
died  to  save  us,  wants  you  for  one  of  his  sheep,  and 
if  you  will  trust  his  promise  and  believe  him  as  you 
believe  me,  then  he  says,  'This  day  shalt  thou  be 
with  me  in  Paradise. '  "  While  Dinsmore  was  talking, 
Bab  was  slowly  turning  the  pages  of  her  book,  scan- 
ning each  picture  closely.  The  last  picture  was  one 
in  which  the  Shepherd  was  gathering  all  his  flock 
into  the  fold. 

"There,"  she  broke  in  on  Dinsmore's  talk,  and 


A    HILLSIDE  PARISH.  253 

held  up  the  book  triumphantly,  "  There  Grannie,  is 
an  old  sheep,  she  looks  tougher  than  you  do,  and 
the  Shepherd  is  puttin'  her  into  the  fold  along  with 
the  lambs." 

"  Does  it  say  so  Bab  ?  Does  it  say  that  an  old 
Grannie  can  be  there  with  the  lambs?  Does  it  say 
that  He  cares  for  an  old  witch-woman  ?  What  does 
it  say  Bab?     Tell  it  to  me,  child." 

"  I  can't  Grannie;  we  ain't  got  that  far  yet,"  and 
she  looked  wistfully  at  Dinsmore. 

He  leaned  over  and  read  softly  to  the  child,  who 
repeated  the  words  after  him  in  the  clear,  confident 
voice  of  a  child  who  believes  that  it  is  telling  an 
important  piece  of  news.  "  In  my  father's  house  are 
many  mansions.     I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you." 

"  Is  that  what  it  says,  Bab  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  child  proudly,  smiling  at 
Dinsmore,  "That's  what  it  says;  and  that's  what 
the  Good  Shepherd  is  doin';  he's  takin'  'em  all  in, 
lambs  and  old  ones,  and  not  leavin'  one  single  one 
out  in  the  cold;"  and  she  nodded  her  head  gravely, 
giving  emphasis  to  her  accurate  description  of  the 
picture. 

"  I  never  went  to  church,  and  I  never  had  a  Bible 
in  my  hands,  that  I  know  of." 

"No  matter,  Barbara,  about  what  is  past;  that  is 
gone;  but  are  you  now  ready  to  believe  the  prom- 
ise of  the  Lord  Jesus?" 

"Yes,  if  it's  to  me.     Where's  Bab?" 

"  Here  I  am  Grannie ;  here, "  she  said,  as  Barbara's 
eyes  wandered,  after  resting  on  her  face  for  a  mo^ 
ment. 


254  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"  Bab  tell  me  again  about  the  old  sheep.  What 
does  he  say  to  them  ?" 

Dinsmore  repeated  it,  softly  over,  and  Bab  in  a 
loud  voice  "In  my  father's  house  are  many  man- 
sions.    I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you." 

As  the  words  died  away  there  was  a  whispered 
"Yes,"  or  perhaps  it  was  only  a  strong  sigh;  but, 
with  it,  the  spirit  of  old  Barbara  returned  to  Him 
who  gave  it. 

The  shadow  of  death  made  the  old  face,  all  of  a 
sudden,  look  gray  and  strange  in  that  little  hut, 
under  the  light  from  the  leaden  sky  struggling  in 
through  the  one  small  pane,  and  Bab  turned  with  a 
scared  face  to  Dinsmore. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Grannie?"  she  asked. 

"The  Good  Shepherd  has  taken  her,"  answered 
Dinsmore.  "Where's  your  hood  and  coat  Bab?"  As 
the  child  jumped  down  from  his  lap  to  get  them  he 
threw  the  sheet  over  the  dead  woman's  face. 

He  tied  the  child's  hood  on  and  told  her  to  put 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  he  would  give  her  a 
pig-a-back  ride  to  Farmer  Brown's. 

"  Shall  I  say  good-bye  to  Grannie?" 

"Yes  you  can  call  good-bye  to  her;  but  she  can't 
answer  you.  The  Good  Shepherd  has  taken  her  to 
his  fold." 

"Good-bye!  Grannie,"  shouted  Bab,  with  all  her 
might.  "  Give  my  love  to  the  Good  Shepherd ;"  and 
she  clutched  her  picture  book,  as  Dinsmore  took  her 
on  his  back. 

It  was  not  a  long  walk  to  Farmer  Brown's,  not 
more   than    three   quarters   of   a  mile;    but,    under 


A   HILLSIDE   PARISH.  255 

present  circumstances,  Dinsmore  found  it  a  hard 
one.  It  had  begun  to  snow  again,  all  the  way  it 
was  up  hill,  and  in  some  places,  the  drifts  were 
deep.  Bab  grew  to  be  quite  a  heavy  load,  and  he 
panted  hard,  long  before  he  was  at  the  Farmer's  gate. 

Once,  as  he  stood  still  to  get  his  breath,  he  felt 
Bab's  arms  loosen  round  his  neck,  and  one  little 
hand  patted  him  softly  on  the  cheek.  The  tears 
rose  in  Dinsmore's  eyes.  With  the  exception  of  this 
little  token  of  encouragement,  no  word  passed  be- 
tween them.  Dinsmore  was  thinking  how  he  could 
best  fulfil  his  promise  to  care  for  Bab,  and  Bab  was 
thinking  that  Dinsmore  was  the  Good  Shepherd  and 
she  was  one  of  his  lambs  that  he  was  carrying.  "  I 
guess  if  he  ain't  the  Good  Shepherd,  he's  a  good 
deal  like  Him." 

Miss  Fannie  Brown  came  to  the  door.  "Why  Mr. 
Dinsmore!  what  brings  you  here  in  this  storm?" 

"  Grannie's  gone  into  the  fold ;  and  I'm  goin'  with 
Mr.  Dinsmore.  Here's  Grannie,"  continued  Bab, 
opening  her  picture  book  and  pointing  with  her  cold, 
red,  little  fingers,  so  stiff  that  she  could  hardly  turn 
the  leaves,  "  there  she  is,  that  tough  old  ewe,  in  the 
corner  of  the  fold." 

Fannie  burst  out  laughing;  and  Dinsmore,  though 
he  could  not  laugh,  was  forced  into  a  sad  smile,  at 
the  incongruous  description  which  Bab  gave,  so  ear- 
nestly and  sincerely. 

He  explained  to  Fannie  how  he  came  to  be  there, 
and  how  it  happened  that  he  had  Bab  in  charge. 

"  What  a  mercy  that  you  went  there,  Mr.  Dins- 
more; but  what  a  tramp  you  must  have  had.     They 


256  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

have  just  come  in  from  breaking  the  road,  with  two 
teams  of  oxen;  and  father  said  there  were  footsteps 
all  the  way  from  the  village,  and  leading  to  the  Hol- 
low. It  wasn't  any  Scooper  he  said  that  could  take 
such  a  stride  as  that,  in  such  deep  snow;  and  he 
didn't  believe  there  was  a  man  among  'em  that  could 
have  gotten  through  from  the  village,  any  way. 
They'll  be  back  to  dinner  in  half  an  hour;  and  you 
must  stay,  and  father  will  drive  you  back  to  the 
village.     Bab  have  you  had  any  breakfast?" 

"Yes  mam,  three  crackers."  Dinsmore  had  for- 
gotten the  cookies  for  the  child. 

"  You  poor  child ;  come  with  me,  and  mother  will 
give  you  something  to  eat." 

"  I  promised  old  Barbara  that  I  would  take  care 
of  Bab,"  said  Dinsmore,  when  Fannie  Brown  came 
back  from  the  kitchen,  leaving  Bab  there  with  her 
mother  and  a  comfortable  bowl  of  bread  and  milk. 
"  I  do  not  know  exactly  what  to  do  with  the  child, 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment." 

"  I  would  take  her  to  Mary  Lowther's,  right  away. 
Only  two  weeks  ago,  Mary  said  to  me  that  she 
wanted  to  get  Bab  away  from  Hard-Scrabble;  and, 
as  soon  as  she  was  old  enough  to  do  anything  about 
the  house  and  learn,  she  was  going  to  ask  old  Bar- 
bara to  let  her  have  the  child  and  bring  her  up.  If 
I  were  you,  I'd  take  her  right  to  Mary." 

This  suggestion  accorded  so  exactly  with  Dins- 
more's  own  views  that  he  was  prepared  to  adopt  it, 
without  any  hesitation. 

So,  after  dinner,  Farmer  Brown  took  the  young 
pastor  and  his  little  charge  into  the  village.     Bab 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  257 

nestled  close  to  him  and  kept  her  hand  in  his  all  the 
way,  and  Dinsmore  felt  loath  to  part  with  the  child, 
so  soon. 

As  he  passed  Tim  Mitchell's  he  stopped,  and  sent 
him  to  prepare  for  Barbara's  funeral. 

As  Mary  Lowther  sat  looking  out  on  the  snow, 
which  had  kept  her  a  prisoner  for  three  days,  except 
the  expedition  to  church,  she  saw  Farmer  Brown's 
sleigh  drive  up  to  the  door,  and  out  of  it  sprang 
Dinsmore,  and  picking  up  Bab  in  his  arms,  carried 
her  toward  the  house. 

Mary  ran  down  to  the  door  to  meet  them.  Her 
heart  beat  fast;  she  had  scarcely  spoken  to  Dins- 
more for  two  weeks.  He  had  seemed  to  avoid  her, 
she  fancied. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Dinsmore?"  she 
asked,  taking  the  child  from  his  arms. 

Bab's  face  glowed  with  intense  satisfaction. 

"I  have  brought  the  child  to  you,"  he  said;  "be- 
cause Miss  Fannie  Brown  told  me  that  you  wanted 
her;  and  I  promised  old  Barbara,  on  her  death  bed, 
that  I  would  take  care  of  the  child." 

Mary  carried  Bab  into  the  house  and  asked  Dins- 
more to  follow;  and  having  given  the  child  in  charge 
to  the  old  nurse  who  had  cared  for  herself  as  a  baby, 
she  returned  to  the  parlor. 

Dinsmore  waited  for  her,  his  pulse  beat  with  a 
tense,  sharp  stroke,  so  that  he  felt  it  throb  in  his 
neck.  It  was  a  long  time  since  he  had  seen  her  to 
talk  with  her  alone.  He  felt  uncertain  how  to  ad- 
dress her,  what  to  say,  what  tone  to  use;  they  stood 
in  a  changed  relation  to  one  another. 
17 


258  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

And  yet,  when  she  came  into  the  room,  she  was 
just  as  she  had  always  been,  the  same  natural,  un- 
constrained, simple  manner;  the  change  had  not  af- 
fected her. 

"What  is  it  Mr.  Dinsmore?"  she  asked.  "How 
do  you  come  here  bringing  Bab?" 

He  told  her  the  story  of  his  journey  out  to 
Scooper's  Hollow,  and  the  scene  at  the  death-bed  of 
the  old  witch-woman. 

"  Oh ;  you  ought  not  to  have  gone  out  there  in 
this  storm,  Mr.  Dinsmore.  If  you  felt  that  you 
must  go,  you  should  have  sent  word  to  us,  and  let 
us  send  you  out  there  in  the  sleigh." 

"  But  no  sleigh  could  have  gotten  through,  until  the 
oxen  had  broken  the  road;  and  think  what  I  accom- 
plished by  being  with  old  Barbara  when  she  died." 

"Yes;  but  you  ought  not  to  go  out,  on  these 
lonely  roads,  in  such  a  storm,"  persisted  Mary. 

"  Now  that  I  am  safely  back  with  the  child,  the 
question  arises  how  can  I  fulfil  the  promise  that  I 
made  to  old  Barbara?" 

"  I  will  keep  Bab.  I  have  wanted  to  get  the  child 
under  my  care,"  answered  Mary. 

"  That  will  be  a  very  happy  solution  of  the  ques- 
tion," said  Dinsmore;  "as  long  as  you  live  here." 

"Well;  we  will  always  live  here;  that  is  until  we 
die,"  replied  Mary.  "And  I  think  Father  would 
rather  die  than  move  away  from  Clintonville. " 

"  Your  father  may  live  and  die  here,  and  yet  that 
does  not  determine  the  question  whether  you  may 
not  find  a  home  far  from  here,"  answered  Dinsmore, 
with  a  ghastly  attempt  at  a  smile. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  259 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  replied 
Mary,  thoroughly  non-plussed;  for  this  mood  was 
one  in  which  she  had  never  before  seen  the  young 
pastor. 

"  I  mean  that  young  ladies  fortunes  in  life  are  not 
always  regulated  by  their  parents,"  answered  Dins- 
more,  desperately. 

"You  look  thoroughly  tired  out,  Mr.  Dinsmore. 
Won't  you  stay  here  to  supper,  and  go  and  lie  down 
and  rest  before  supper.  You  ought  not  to  overtax 
your  strength  so." 

"I  can't  lie  down.  I  am  nervous  and  excited  by 
the  scene  through  which  I  have  passed,  and  feel 
more  like  taking  another  long  tramp." 

"You  can't  do  that.  You  would  make  yourself 
ill.  You  must  not  give  way  to  such  a  feeling  which 
is  mere  nervousness,  and  has  no  reason  in  it.  You 
owe  a  duty  to  yourself  and  to  us,  to  the  church  I 
mean,  to  take  care  of  your  health.  You  must  not 
go  out  again,"  she  paused  suddenly,  and  her  face 
flushed;  she  had  grown  so  earnest  that  it  seemed 
very  much  as  if  she  were  reading  her  pastor  a  lecture. 

"  If  my  work  calls  on  me  to  go,  ought  I  not  to  go? 
Can  I  let  people  die  without  the  message  of  peace 
that  I  can  bring  to  them,  because  I  am  afraid  of  my 
health.  I  have  not  held  my  work  before  me  as  I 
ought  to  have  done.  Other  things  have  come  be- 
tween me  and  my  duty.  Ought  I  to  hesitate  when 
I  am  called  by  the  sore  need  of  those  around  me?" 

Clearly  he  was  not  offended  by  her  reproof,  and 
Mary  took  up  her  parable  again. 

"You  ought  to  answer  a  call  of  duty;  but  you  can 


260  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

do  it  in  a  way  to  spare  your  own  health  and  strength. 
But  now  you  have  no  call  of  duty.  It  is  only  your 
own  restlessness  that  makes  you  try  to  invent  one. 
Please  don't  go  out  again  this  evening,  Mr.  Dins- 
more." 

He  had  been  pacing  up  and  down  the  room;  he 
seated  himself  quietly  and  said,  "No;  Miss  Mary,  I 
will  not  go." 

How  pale  and  tired  he  looked;  and  she  was  so 
glad  that  she  had  gotten  this  promise  from  him. 

"What  did  you  mean  by  your  not  holding  your 
work  before  you  as  you  ought  to  have  done.  Father 
said,  the  other  day,  that  he  never  knew  a  man  more 
enthusiastic  over  his  profession  or  more  devoted  to 
his  work  than  you.  I  believe  that  Mr.  Whitlock 
has  had  something  to  do  with  your  getting  such  a 
notion  in  your  head.  I'm  glad  he  has  gone  home. 
Two  or  three  times,  when  I  would  have  had  a  chance 
to  talk  with  you  and  father  about  the  church  plans, 
he  was  in  the  way." 

"Yes,  Tom  had  something  to  do  with  it,"  began 
Dinsmore. 

"Well  then,  I  wish  he  hadn't  come  here,  and  I 
hope  he  won't  come  back,  next  Spring,"  interrupted 
Mary. 

"  I  don't  think  he  will  do  any  harm,  next  Spring," 
said  Dinsmore  slowly,  as  though  he  were  measuring 
every  word.  "  When  I  saw  how  much  he  was  with 
you,  and  knew  how  well  suited  he  was  to  make  a 
woman  care  for  him,  and  how  happy  a  woman  would 
be  with  such  a  noble  fellow,  I  felt  that  it  was  to  be 
my  fate  to  see  you  taken  away  from  me,  and  that  I 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  26 1 

must  learn  to  do  my  work  alone.  Then  I  began  to 
fear,  when  I  saw  how  this  thought  robbed  my  work 
of  its  zest,  that  I  was  mistaken  in  thinking  that  I 
loved  my  work  for  its  own  sake.  Now  you  know 
what  is  in  my  heart.  You  know  that  I  love  you ; 
I  pray  God,  not  better  than  my  work  as  His 
minister." 

He  rose  and  stood  before  her,  his  eyes  looked 
deep  and  dark  and  his  voice  quivered,  so  that  every 
nerve  in  Mary's  body  tingled.  She  was  sitting  with 
her  hands  clasped  tightly  in  her  lap  and  her  face  bent 
down.  Now  she  looked  up  at  him;  and  he  seemed 
like  one  of  those  "Sons  of  God,"  that  wooed  the 
daughters  of  men. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?     Can  I "  she  was  interrupted 

by  the  patter  of  little  feet  in  the  hall,  and  Bab  ran 
into  the  room  and  perched  herself  on  the  sofa  by 
Mary's  side.  As  Dinsmore  took  his  seat  she  gave 
each  of  them  a  hand. 

Mary  smiled  on  the  child,  Dinsmore  looked  preter- 
naturally  solemn. 

"Say  Good-night  to  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  said  Mary. 
"  It  is  time  for  little  girls  to  be  in  bed,"  and  she  led 
the  child  away. 

Dinsmore  paced  up  and  down  the  room  till  she 
returned.  It  seemed  to  take  a  long  while  to  hand 
the  child  over  to  a  nurse  and  tell  her  to  put  her  to 
bed.  Mary's  step  in  the  hall,  the  rustle  of  her  dress 
made  him  draw  his  breath  quickly;  and  he  stood 
waiting  for  her  as  she  came  in  the  door. 

"  And  so  you  are  really  mine  ?"  he  said  as  he  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  over  and  over  again. 


262  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"Stop,"  she  said.  "I  have  not  said  so;  and  you 
give  me  no  chance  to  say  what  I  want  to  say  so 
much." 

So  he  stopped  and  gave  her  the  chance;  but  let 
us  not  intrude,  nor  betray  confidence  by  telling  what 
she  said. 

Then  they  rose  to  go  to  Judge  Lowther's  study, 
Dinsmore  with  fear  and  trembling,  Mary  with  easy 
confidence;  but  he  was  Mary's  father. 

As  they  came  into  the  study,  she  took  Dinsmore's 
hand  and  they  walked  up  to  the  Judge,  who  looked 
up  over  his  spectacles,  startled  at  their  unusual  atti- 
tude, for  he  never  remembered  to  have  seen  them 
walking  about  the  house  hand  in  hand. 

"Well;  what  is  it,  Mary?"  he  said. 

Dinsmore  answered  him.  "  I  have  come  to  ask 
your  consent  to  my " 

The  Judge  interrupted,  rising  to  his  feet,  "With 
all  my  heart,"  he  said;  "but  bless  me;  I  thought  it 
was  the  other  young  man,  Mary." 

"You  were  mistaken,  Father,"  she  began. 

"  I  see  I  was;  never  made  a  worse  blunder  in  my 
life;  but  I'm  glad  I  was  mistaken."  Then  he  shook 
Dinsmore  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  Either  one  would 
have  suited  me,"  he  added.  "  But  Mary  was  entitled 
to  a  choice;  and  I  am  sure  she  has  made  no  mistake, 
this  time.  You  mustn't  take  her  away  from  me,  you 
know.  I  can't  stand  that.  We  will  build  you  a 
wing,  opposite  this  study  of  mine,  for  a  study.  This 
is  the  way  I  would  suggest,"  and  the  Judge  sat 
down,  with  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  sketched  out  a 
plan  for  a  study  on  the  south  side  of  the  house. 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  2O3 

After  supper  Dinsmore  and  Mary  sat  in  the  parlor, 
reviewing  the  past  and  forecasting  the  future;  and 
now  the  love  of  this  girl  and  the  work  of  his  ministry 
seemed  no  longer  in  conflict. 

"  Promise  me,  Mr.  Dins " 

"  What  ?"  he  interrupted — 

"Promise  me,  Harry,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  "  that  you  will  go  straight  to  bed,  as  soon 
as  you  get  home.  After  such  a  day  you  ought  to 
rest." 

"  After  such  a  day  I  can  rest,  whether  I  sleep  or 
wake;  and  I  shall  have  plenty  to  dream  about.  And 
so  I  will  go  straight  to  bed." 

As  he  passed  Mother  Livingston's  he  felt  like 
stopping  to  tell  the  old  Dame  that  he  had  followed 
her  wise  counsel;  but  he  was  under  promise,  and  so 
he  went  straight  home  and  to  bed. 

On  the  next  day  they  laid  old  Barbara  to  rest,  in 
the  graveyard  of  the  North  Settlement. 

At  the  service,  held  in  the  school-house,  Farmer 
Brown's  family,  one  or  two  of  the  nearest  neighbors 
and  Mary  Lowther,  were  the  only  attendants.  A 
few  of  the  Scoopers  lingered  around  the  door  and 
followed  the  little  procession  to  the  grave-yard,  to 
see  what  they  were  going  to  do  with  old  Barbara. 

The  storm  had  ceased  and  the  sun  shone  brightly, 
as  they  stood  around  the  open  grave. 

The  white  snow  and  the  hard,  red  clay  mingled 
with  each  other  as  they  fell  upon  the  coffin.  The 
little  group  of  Christian  people  bowed  their  heads, 
as  the  young  pastor  recited  the  benediction  for 
"those  who  die  in  the  Lord."     The  gaunt,  dirty,  ill- 


264  A    HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

clad  Scoopers  stood  apart  watching  the  scene  with  a 
solemn,  stupid  curiosity. 

To  Dinsmore  it  was  the  ingathering  of  the  first 
fruits  of  their  mission  in  Scooper's  Hollow,  the  first 
time  that  any  of  them  had  received  Christian  burial; 
and  again  he  was  reminded  of  the  words  "  and  a 
little  child  shall  lead  them." 

It  was  Bab  whose  voice  had  led  old  Barbara,  as 
she  was  passing  out  of  this  world,  into  the  fold  of 
the  Good  Shepherd.  He  bowed  his  head  over  Bar- 
bara's grave,  and  prayed  God  to  give  him  the  heart 
of  a  little  child. 


L'ENVOI. 

AGAIN  it  was  Spring  on  these  hills  over  which 
the  bleak  Winter  winds  had  whistled  and 
where  the  Winter  snows  had  lain  so  hard  and  fast, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  they  never  would  thaw  out. 

Dinsmore  came  down  the  village  street,  late  in 
the  evening,  with  lagging  steps.  He  had  spent  a 
good  part  of  the  day  on  his  feet,  over  in  the  North 
Settlement.  He  came  into  the  village,  just  as  the 
old  coach  drove  up,  and  waited  for  the  mail.  Now, 
as  twilight  was  falling,  he  turned  his  steps  home- 
ward. 

He  saw  the  glow  of  the  fire  from  his  study  win- 
dows; and  as  he  came  up  the  gravel  path,  the  study 
door  swung  open.  He  went  in  and  flung  himself  in 
the  easy  chair  in  front  of  the  crackling  wood  fire; 
for  there  was  chill  enough  in  the  evening  air  to  make 
a  blazing  hearth  seem  cheery. 

"  Bab  run  and  get  Mr.  Dinsmore's  slippers  for 
him;"  and  the  little  pattering  feet  flew  willingly  on 
the  errand. 

"  You  are  tired,  Harry,  you  look  pale,  and  fagged 
out.  You  must  not  work  so  hard  in  this  enervat- 
ing Spring  weather,"  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  leaned  over  and  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead. 

265 


266  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

"That  sets  me  on  my  feet,  Mary,"  he  said  as  he 
brightened  up,  in  answer  to  her  smile.  "  Yes,  I  am 
dead  tired;  but  not 'weary.  It  is  the  kind  of  tire 
that  sleep  will  cure.  I  have  had  a  good  day.  I 
have  done  lots  of  tramping  and  plenty  of  talking; 
but  it  has  been  to  some  purpose.  Seven  of  the  Hard 
Scrabble  people  have  promised  me  to  come  to  a 
service  in  the  school-house,  next  Sunday  afternoon; 
five  women  and  two  men.  I  think  they  feel  that 
we  gave  old  Barbara  a  burial  like  one  of  our  own 
people,  and  that  such  decent  conduct  on  our  part 
deserves  their  approbation.  I  think  we  ought  to 
take  Bab  with  us,  and  let  them  see  that  we  have 
neither  killed  and  eaten  the  child,  nor  sold  her  into 
slavery." 

Mary  laughed.  "  You  always  had  the  most  un- 
bounded faith  in  Bab's  missionary  powers.  You're 
a  funny  man,  Harry;  you  stick  to  a  notion  so 
fast." 

"  I  stuck  to  the  notion  of  getting  Mary  Lowther 
for  a  wife.     Was  that  funny  ?" 

"Yes;  that  was  the  funniest  of  all  your  doings. 
But  that  did  not  take  you  very  long;  and  what  do 
you  think  of  that  transaction,  now  that  you  have 
had  a  month  in  which  to  test  it." 

"  I  would  like  to  do  it  over  a  dozen  times." 

"Thank  you  sir.     Once  is  enough  for  me." 

"There's  a  letter  from  Tom  Whitlock,"  he  said, 
emptying  his  pockets  bn  the  table.  "  Light  the  stu- 
dent's lamp  and  read  it  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Whitlock  don't  intend  the  contents 
for  my  eyes. " 


A   HILLSIDE  PARISH.  267 

"  Then  he  had  better  not  send  it  to  me,"  answered 
Dinsmore. 

Mary  lit  the  lamp,  and  sat  down  by  the  table  and, 
glancing  at  the  letter,  burst  out  laughing.  She  threw 
it  in  Dinsmore's  lap,  the  color  flushed  up  in  her 
face.  "  I  think  I  was  right  in  assuming  that,  per- 
haps, it  was  not  meant  for  my  eyes." 

Dinsmore  read: 

"  My  Dear  Harry  : — And  so  I  am  to  come  to  you  and  see 
the  girl  whose  charm  I  first  discovered  and  whose  fortunes  I 
intended,  if  all  went  well,  to  link  with  my  own,  installed  as 
your  wife.  You  understand,  I  hope,  that  a  compound  fracture  of 
the  heart  and  the  purse  prevented  my  coming  to  see  you  snatch 
the  prize  away  from  me.  Well,  if  she  must  go  to  some  one  else, 
I  would  rather  that  you  should  have  her  than  any  one  I  know. 
You're  a  decent  fellow,  Harry,  and  awfully  lucky.  Was  the 
'  widder '  there  ?  To  show  you  that  I  bear  no  grudge,  I  will 
be  with  you  next  week,  if  you  write  me  that  the  streams  are  clear 
of  snow-water. 

"  Go  out  and  cast  a  line  yourself,  and  see  if  they  bite.  There's 
a  good  fellow.  I  cannot  afford  very  much  of  a  vacation,  and  I 
don't  want  to  waste  it  where  there  are  no  trout. 

"  My  respects  to  the  Missus  and  my  love  to  the  Judge,  or  vice 
versa. 

"  Yours  as  ever, 

Tom." 

"  There's  no  great  harm  done  by  letting  you  see 
that,  I  fancy;"  and  Dinsmore  laughed  at  Mary's 
blushes. 

So  Tom  came  in  due  time,  had  some  good  fishing, 
and  imparted  to  Mary,  various  bits  of  information, 
according  to  his  lights. 

•  "  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Dinsmore,  that  I  was  the 
saving  of  this  truant  husband  of  yours.     I  opened 


268  A   HILLSIDE  PARISH. 

his  eyes  to  the  net  that  was  being  spread  in  his  path. 
You  virtually  owe  him  to  me;  and  I  ought  to  be  an 
honored  guest  in  your  house." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Whitlock.  I  can 
never  do  enough  to  pay  off  such  a  debt  as  that." 

"Oh!  now,  you  don't  believe  it;  but  I  tell  you, 
the  wool  was  pretty  well  over  his  eyes,  when  I  first 
came  up  here.  Isn't  that  true,  Harry?  Didn't  I 
give  you  some  good  advice?" 

"Most  excellent,  from  your  point  of  view;  and 
most  effective  because  I  didn't  need  it." 

"Weren't  you  afraid  of  that  winning  widow,  Mrs. 
Dinsmore?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Whitlock,  not  in  the  sense  that  you 
mean.  I  was  afraid  that  some  of  the  village  gossips 
would  connect  Harry's  name  with  her,  so  as  to  hurt 
his  influence;  but  I  never,  for  a  moment,  thought 
that  she  could  make  him  love  her." 

"  Well,  then,  you  had  a  great  deal  more  faith  in 
him  than  I  had.  I  thought  him  in  real  danger,  and 
doubted  whether  he  could  hold  his  own." 

"  I  was  sure  that  I  could  hold  my  own,"  answered 
Mary. 

Dinsmore  laughed  heartily. 

"  I  never  thought  of  your  taking  that  view  of  the 
matter,"  said  Whitlock,  thoroughly  non-plussed,  and 
without  any  ready  answer. 

"  Suppose  we  regard  this  debate  as  satisfactorily 
closed,"  interposed  Dinsmore.  "  It  gives  one  a  curi- 
ous sensation  to  hear  two  people  discuss  one's 
affections,  as  though  they  had  them  in  clinic  for  dis- 
section.    Whatever  may  have  been  the  doubts  or 


A    HILLSIDE   PARISH.  269 

dangers  of  the  past,  we  have  settled  them,  and 
reached  a  conclusion  highly  satisfactory  to  the  par- 
ties chiefly  concerned." 

And  so  Dinsmore  had  the  last  word. 


THE    END. 


